


What the Night Brings

by sven co-op (sven_coop), sven_coop



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: Aged Up, Angst, F/M, Gen, Half-Troll Jim, Hurt/Comfort, No Trollhunter, PTSD, Slow Burn, Swearing, Transformation AU, Troll Tendencies, Updates every weekend, Violence, but he's still human, come on they're teenagers, it's senior year everybody!, most canon characters show up at some point, not a changeling, only a little bit, some graphic depictions of injury, troll culture is a tad different
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 162,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25706806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sven_coop/pseuds/sven%20co-op, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sven_coop/pseuds/sven_coop
Summary: A bite from a bloodthirsty troll leaves Jim with scars that run deeper than he ever expected. Now human by day and troll by night, he must fight to retain normalcy while simultaneously hiding this new dangerous part of himself. Trouble brews beneath his feet as an old grudge stirs, and the mysteries of Arcadia suddenly become clear as day.His only goal had been to survive senior year.
Relationships: Aaarrrgghh & Blinkous "Blinky" Galadrigal, Aja Tarron & Krel Tarron, Archie & Douxie (Tales of Arcadia), Barbara Lake/Walter Strickler | Stricklander, Draal & Jim Lake Jr. (Tales of Arcadia), Jim Lake Jr. & Walter Strickler | Stricklander, Jim Lake Jr./Claire Nuñez, Steve Palchuk & Eli Pepperjack, Toby Domzalski & Jim Lake Jr.
Comments: 1161
Kudos: 798





	1. Things That Go Bump in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some trolls. Oh and Jim almost dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haven't posted fic in forever cause i was really dissatisfied with my style but i've since improved a lot i feel and i wanted to take another crack at it. forgive my verbosity i am still very much an amateur writer
> 
> anyway this concept or something similar has probably been done already so my b if that's the case i haven't actually read any fics from this fandom
> 
> please enjoy :)

“I’m growing tired of these cavern walls.”

Gunmar’s rumbling words reverberated through the council room, echoing off the rock and filling the air with thrumming impatience. It forced momentary silence among the gathered advisors.

“. . . Be that as it may, this is a delicate proposition to consider,” Vendel cautioned wearily, daring to be the first to recover his voice. “Humans can be very territorial.”

“It isn’t a proposal,” Gunmar snapped. “It’s an inevitability. Within our lives, trolls will need to take to the surface, one way or another. The humans have had their turn. Now, it’s ours.”

“Trollmarket is our home.”

“Trollmarket is growing,” Dictatious said, reinserting himself into the debate. “The world is not big enough for trolls and humans. It’s but a matter of time before one is required to snuff out the other.”

The sharp pounding of fist on stone drew everyone’s attention to Kanjigar. “Trolls are not equipped to fight humans,” he interjected fiercely. “Perhaps small numbers and with the element of surprise, but in a race-wide war—”

“Humans are terrified little things. It doesn’t take much to get them running,” came Bular’s grumbling voice from his spot along the wall nearby.

“And yet, fear is their greatest motivator,” Kanjigar argued. Bular snorted but it went ignored. “Humans are civilized creatures, but they behave savagely when afraid. There’s a reason they won the first surface war all those millennia ago.”

Dictatious scoffed. “And look what they do to the world. They poison it. What justifies their right to hoard the surface lands while we burrow like maggots?”

“For starters, they are able to walk in the sun,” Vendel answered wryly.

“This is something that has been coming for a long time,” Gunmar said. His eye fell to his warrior general. “Kanjigar. You bear the moniker Courageous and are one of my fiercest soldiers. Surely you do not fear humans?”

Kanjigar stood and leveled his gaze with his master’s. “I am wise to be weary. Their technological advances are not something to underestimate. They are spread and numerous. We are effectively outnumbered and outgunned. I could never imagine a scenario where we’d win.”

“Perhaps you are fearing the wrong thing then,” Gunmar growled, claws scraping over his throne as his fingers curled into a fist.

“We are a race of battle. We are born to fight. Humans are not,” Dictatious said.

“But humans are made to adapt,” Kanjigar said. “When they are threatened, their worst comes out. The wars they rage on themselves are not petty squabbles—they’re spectacles of death and destruction. They’ve designed weapons that can level entire cities. Crossing swords with them would only lead to our ruin.”

“So, you wish to rot underground for the rest of eternity? The humans are too arrogant to even acknowledge us anymore. We should remind them whose ground they step on.”

“Have you forgotten that we thrive in these caves?”

“These caves will suffocate us in time. We must look to expand.”

“There is no life for us where the very air is tainted with _daylight!”_

Gunmar slammed his fist against his throne, the _crack!_ bouncing off the walls and making the room’s occupants jump. “Cease this bickering!” he snarled, horns lowered in warning. Dictatious wisely avoided his gaze and Kanjigar stiffly returned to his seat.

After a tense moment, Vendel sighed. “Have the other leaders been notified of this . . . turning of an age?”

“Watch your tongue, goat,” Dictatious warned. “Remember who you’re speaking to.”

Gunmar waved him off and met his oldest advisor’s gaze. “I’ve spoken only with Usurna, but the Krubera have not formally agreed.”

“And it is unlikely Gatto will bother leaving his fortress at all,” Vendel added. “What of the eastern clans?”

“No word.”

“Then it is a lost cause,” Kanjigar said with a shake of his head. “If we cannot rally ourselves in common interest, then we’ve already failed before even beginning.”

“Have some faith in your kind, Kanjigar,” Dictatious sneered.

“I have faith that my brothers could, and _would,_ strike down an enemy of equal caliber. But in the face of an enemy that can walk day and night, I’m not so confident.” His eyes fell to Gunmar, his leader and master and king, and narrowed slightly. “Trolls are a race of honor. Humans are not. Deceit is the only way to win a war against them and I know my brothers would sooner crumble to dust than sink so low.”

Gunmar inclined his head, thoughtful, holding his warrior general’s gaze. His claws tapped the throne in a slow rhythm, the methodical drumming stilling his council into an uncomfortable silence.

“I’ve heard enough,” he suddenly declared as he reclined in his throne. “This will be discussed at a later time. Council dismissed.”

The tension in the room melted away the instant the words left his mouth. Dictatious was the first to exit with his informants closely in tow—always looking for an opportunity to occupy his attention, never idle—with Vendel following leisurely behind. Kanjigar, being the only troll on the council working directly under Gunmar’s command, gave a customary military salute before taking his leave.

Upon standing, however, he did not raise his head, and instead met Gunmar’s eyes from beneath lowered horns. His departure was brisk and rigid.

“The fool just loves to run his mouth,” Bular growled as he drew up alongside Gunmar.

“He knows something,” Gunmar muttered, stroking his claws along his jaw. “He wouldn’t throw his weight around so boldly if he didn’t have any ground to stand on.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking . . . that he may prove to be more trouble in the future than I’m willing to risk. Perhaps I have a task for you, my son.”

“And what would you have me do, Father?”

The Gumm Gumm King eyed the tunnel where Kanjigar disappeared. His lips curled in disdain.

“Kill him.”

* * *

“You ready for that Spanish exam next week? First one of the year and you know Señor Uhl isn’t going to hold back.”

“Of course not. That would require me actually knowing what I’m doing,” Jim answered cheerfully as Toby met up with him after class. The final bell still echoed blissfully in the back of his mind and he couldn’t wait to stress out about his growing workload in the comfort of his own home.

“You’d think three years of a language would at least make us conversational, but. Nope.”

“I can’t even think about Spanish with these stupid pre-calc worksheets due Friday. I’ll take conversational language over matrices any day.” They arrived at their respective lockers and, after a few struggling attempts to get them open, dumped their textbooks to relieve their spines. “And honestly, I haven’t really had time to study for the exam lately. My mom’s pushing me to start early on the SAT.”

Toby frowned up at him, crouched at his own locker. “Dude, the test isn’t till spring.”

“I know,” Jim grumbled as he slammed his locker shut and leaned back against it, waiting for Toby to finish. “Though, considering how behind I am with schoolwork already, she might be onto something.”

Something colorful caught the edge of his peripheral and he glanced up. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed the familiar blue streak accompanied by a rainbow of hair clips, and the band merch that always managed to find some place to be worn. His eyes lingered even as her friends pulled her away in animated conversation.

“Think _she’d_ help me with my Spanish?” Jim asked wryly.

Toby followed his gaze before giving him a flat stare. “Who, Claire? Sure, if magic exists, considering you’ve been waiting for a miracle since freshman year and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even know your name. Hate to break it to you, pal, but you’re just not cool enough for her.”

“You mean _we_ aren’t cool enough,” he said with a smirk. Toby kicked his locker shut before sliding into Jim’s line of sight with a telltale grin.

“But we might be this year after we’ve made our mark.”

“Not this again,” Jim groaned, pushing off the lockers and heading for the bike racks.

Toby hurried to keep up, talking excitedly behind him. “Nothing’s more important than securing our legacy before graduation! These are the defining moments that will shape the rest of our lives, Jimbo, and we’ve played it too safe for too long. It’s senior year—we’ve only got one chance left. Do you want your line to end here?”

“My _line?_ Are you trying to convince me that if I don’t solidify my image in the minds of Arcadia Oaks High’s student body, I’ve forfeited all chance of procreation?”

“Do you know what happens when you go into college with no game?”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s about thinking long term!” Toby pulled on his helmet and tapped his finger against his head. “Plan for the future.”

“You’re deranged.” Jim unchained his bike and mounted it, popping the kickstand with his heel.

“Wanna race home?”

“Even though I’ll beat you?”

“Listen, I’ve been practicing and I might just surprise the both of us.”

“As fun as that sounds, I’ve got to go pick up something to eat for my mom. She forgot her dinner _again_ and she’ll go her entire shift on empty if I don’t step in.”

“You’ve got to stop being a mom to your mom.”

“It’s a partnership—she covers the finances and I make sure neither of us starve.”

“Yeah, whatever, _Mom,”_ Toby grumbled under his breath. “Wanna kick some Spanish tonight? Delay our inevitable demise at the hands of Uhl?”

“Sure. I’ll probably be home later this evening. I’ll text you.”

They rode together down the street until their separate destinations bid them different routes. They parted ways with mutual farewells. Jim made his way downtown in search of some takeout for his mom, casting occasional glances at the sky and its darkening clouds. He hoped he’d make it home before any rain ruined his night.

He wasn’t so lucky. The sky held only until he stepped into the clinic. He stared morosely outside as his bike suffered a soggy fate. Resigning himself with an irritated sigh, he took a seat in the lobby after waving at the receptionist, who acknowledged his presence with a nod.

Might as well knock out some math while he was marooned.

Except _that_ turned out to be a dead end. Two hours later, when his mom finally caught a second to breathe, he’d only finished a handful of problems. Her routine lecture on how he should be focusing on things other than her health seemed emptier than usual and she gratefully took his offered food, despite it having long gone cold.

“I’ve got to get back to work, kiddo, but— _but—!”_ she interrupted him with a finger before he could comment, “I will be sure to eat this as soon as I can. Just worry about your own problems for once.” She gestured to his half-finished homework still lying in front of him and he raised his hands in surrender.

“Alright, you win. I’ll leave you alone. Just don’t be surprised if I check in later to make sure you remembered. You gonna be home late again?”

“With how it’s looking tonight, seems like it.”

Jim sighed before dumping his homework back into his bag and throwing it over his shoulder. He stood and said, “At least try to glance at the fridge before you leave tomorrow morning? You need the energy.”

She smiled at him. “I’m not a teenage boy like you, Jim. I don’t need as much as you think.”

“I’m pretty sure old people need to eat too.”

“Watch it, mister. You might almost be an adult by law, but I still own you.”

Jim couldn’t help grinning and her playful frown softened. She glanced outside, where it was still raining and darkening with the setting sun. “You going to be okay getting home?”

He nodded and said, “Yeah, the rain’s not so bad now. I’ll be fine.”

“Alright. I gotta go. Love you, Jim, and be careful on the wet roads.” She threw one arm around him in a parting embrace before hurrying back through the doors to the trauma center. Jim shook his head and pulled up his hood to brace for the rain.

Fortunately, it’d lightened to a steady drizzle. His jacket would keep him somewhat dry, but his seat was wet—he stood on his pedals as he cruised down the street in the direction of home, the air crisp and cool in his face and the world around him gray and soggy and void of human life.

It was dark by the time by the time he reached the bridge. The wind was slowly picking back up again and he could feel a chill prickling at his skin as his wet jacket began weighing down along his back. His exposed fingers were cold around his handlebars and his backside was soaked through from when he’d accidentally relaxed onto the seat. All he could think about was how much he wished he were home, even if he’d be studying. Home was warm and dry, and no amount of homework could be that bad when Toby was around to complain along with him.

He’s not mad, he told himself. He’s not mad at his mom for forgetting her dinner because he knows she’s busy and has a lot on her mind all the time and he _chooses_ to make up for it himself but he _really_ wished it wasn’t raining right now—

Something sharp echoed through the air and Jim glanced to the side, eyes darting out over the canals. He paused his huffing a moment to listen, ears met with only the steady sound of rain and the hum of his wheels over asphalt. He could see a thin layer of fog blanketing the canal before giving way to utter darkness.

Huh, he thought. He brushed it off with a shake of his head and turned his attention back to the road.

And then something unmistakably deep and guttural rose from the depths below and Jim slammed his brakes before whipping his bike around. He panted as his eyes darted through the dark, ready to jump out of his skin as he searched for whatever the _hell_ just made that noise.

Again, he was met with only the drum of rain and his own pounding heart. The world was completely still and silent.

Jim peeked over the edge of the bridge and scanned the ground.

Something moved. A silhouette in the inky black below shifted just outside the bridge’s shadow for an instant before retreating back within. Then, what had to have been an animal’s growl reverberated through the air.

Jim felt an uneasy chill crawl down his spine. The bridge shuddered a moment later.

Okay, he wasn’t hearing things and there was _definitely_ something in the canals. Something potentially dangerous by the sound of it, but now he was curious.

Jim left his bike at the top of the slope and made his way down, staying close to the bridge’s supports to avoid slipping on the wet concrete. The lower he got to the canal floor, the clearer the sounds became—sharp, savage noises that made his pulse spike. A booming roar thundered through the air and Jim flinched as a dark, hulking form staggered from the shadows, followed by a second that slammed into the first.

It had to have been a pair of animals fighting. Two very large, very _angry_ animals in a vicious stalemate as they fought over . . . something. Jim couldn’t see with the dark or through the rain—only their outlines, and what looked like two pairs of glowing eyes.

Eyes that glowed brighter than any animal he’d ever seen. It was like watching orbs of fire dance in the dark.

Jim pressed himself against the supports when the fighting drew closer. He felt the beam violently quake as something slammed into it, the sound so sharp it made his ears ring. Like rock slapping metal. Heavy footsteps and ragged breathing permeated the air and Jim could feel the suffocating presences lingering just out of his line of sight.

His breath caught in his throat when the voices reached his ears—deep rumbling growls accompanying guttural words he could not understand. The articulation was harsh—gargled in the throat—and the distinction between the two voices was clear.

These were _definitely_ not animals, and they _definitely_ weren’t having a friendly conversation.

Something cracked loudly over the noise of rain, followed by a heavy thud.

“You are a fool to challenge my father.”

Jim slapped a hand over his mouth to prevent his gasp of shock from escaping. The harsh, sinister words rang clear as day in his ears despite being nearly drowned out by the deafening pounding of his heart.

Another voice, thick and rasping, sounded, “They will not follow you, Bular. They will not follow _him._ Don’t you understand? Your methods will only bring your own undoing!”

“Then they will join you in death.”

Jim heard a sickening crunch and an agonized wail echoed through the canals.

Then silence fell over the night once more.

Jim’s head buzzed wildly as he tried to make sense of what he’d just heard. He looked up just in time to watch a huge form fall from under the bridge before shattering on the concrete, nearly making him jump out of his skin. Heavy footsteps made him freeze and he dared not make a move when he saw the owner shuffle slowly out of the shadows, black and obscured in the foggy darkness, but inarguably massive. An irritated growl cut through the air as it kicked at the pile of rubble.

“My father didn’t spend centuries building his legion just so one miscreant could tear it all down.”

Suddenly, Jim wasn’t that curious anymore. With his hand still over his mouth to stifle his heaving breaths, he slowly, _carefully_ picked his way back up the slope. The creature at the bottom paid him no attention.

And then he slipped.

Jim grunted as he dropped to the wet concrete. He didn’t even feel the sting in his hands as he twisted around, heart leaping into his throat when he saw the pair of burning eyes staring directly at him. A threatening snarl reached his ears and his mind blanked as he scrambled to his feet. He sprinted the few remaining steps up the slope and launched himself onto his bike.

An ear-shattering _roar_ erupted just behind him and he flinched so hard he nearly sent himself over the handlebars. His legs pumped like his life depended on it.

Because it probably did.

Rain pelted his face and the wind roared in his ears, blowing his hood off and dampening his hair. He was nearly blind from the water in his eyes but the frantic pounding from behind gave him plenty of reasons not to slow down.

Jim dared to glance over his shoulder and his nerves ignited when he saw the hulking mass pursing on all fours, powerful front limbs propelling its weight after him. The passing streetlights allowed him a glimpse of the beast—obsidian skin, massive horns, giant teeth—before it faded back into darkness and its eyes were all that remained.

And it was huge. Larger than any creature he’d ever seen.

Jim tore his eyes away and narrowly missed clipping a parked car along the side of the road. It slowed him down and only a lucky snap of his reflexes caused the monster to miss as it lunged for his bike. Instead, it slammed into the car, setting off its alarm. A furious roar thundered after him before fading with distance.

Jim followed the curve of the street, straining his ears for any sound of the monster. Only the rain filled his senses.

He gasped out an exhale as his breathlessness caught up with him, lungs burning in his chest. His legs felt like jelly from peddling so hard and his white-knuckle grip on the handlebars wasn’t nearly enough to still his trembling hands. Jim peeked over his shoulder and nearly cried in relief when his eyes found only the quiet town of Arcadia behind him, void of any activity, monstrous or otherwise.

 _“Oh, god,”_ he swore quietly to himself as he relaxed in his seat. He shoved his wet bangs out of his eyes and took a moment to calm down, the gentle rattle of his bike helping to ease his nerves.

A sharp growl ripped through the rain as claws suddenly swiped at his back tire. Jim yelped as his bike swerved violently out of his control before throwing him to the pavement, vision flashing as he hit head first. The road tore at his clothes and scraped his skin and he could taste blood from a bitten tongue.

He groaned, feeling as if his skull was splitting open. The suffocating presence nearby gave him enough motivation to look up and the sight of the monster knocking aside his bike as it closed in instantly numbed the pain.

Jim wrestled his bag off and desperately scrambled in the opposite direction to throw himself beneath the nearest vehicle, but the monster merely shoved the van out of the way like it weighed nothing. Jim jumped to his feet and ran, desperately searching for a place to evade the monster—

His eyes locked on one of the nearby alleys. It was narrow—big enough to fit him with little room to spare but way too tight for the hulking beast behind him. He sprinted across the street just as he heard the monster charge. He hopped the curve, _almost_ _there—_

Teeth sunk into his right arm and Jim _screamed_ as he was yanked back and violently dragged to the asphalt. Hot, rancid breaths puffed over him, searing yellow eyes burning into his own. Jim flailed and beat his fist painfully against its face in a desperate attempt to get free, but it was like striking a brick wall.

Running on blind instinct, Jim threw a punch directly into one of its eyes.

The beast immediately released him to rear in pain, unleashing a thundering bellow to the heavens. Jim drew in his injured arm and staggered to his feet, rushing for the alley on unsteady legs before throwing himself forward.

The monster lunged at him as he hit the ground, its reach stopping just short of his foot. Jim quickly crawled away, moving deeper into the safety of the alley, while the monster clawed viciously at the walls in a futile effort to get closer.

He took the opportunity to simply watch, frozen with shock and fear, as the creature huffed and snorted and snarled, staring him down with wild and ravenous eyes. It lowered its head to glare at him from beneath its brow before disappearing in a flash, the sounds of its heavy footsteps fading until only the rain remained.

A moment later, a car passed as it drove down the street, the driver blissfully unaware of what had transpired on the sidewalk nearby.

The arm propping Jim up gave out and he collapsed to the ground, trembling. The adrenaline faded and the pain returned—his arm, staining his shirt with blood, burned so fiercely he saw stars. He couldn’t push down the moans of anguish that bubbled up his throat.

If it wasn’t for the warmth on his cheeks contrasting with the cool rain, he wouldn’t have been able to tell he was crying.

Jim had no idea what just happened. He was lying on the ground in the rain, hurting and bleeding and soaking wet, and he had _no idea_ how it’d happened. His immediate recollection was so frantic, so blurred, it didn’t seem real despite it happening just moments before.

He had no clue what just attacked him. Didn’t know why the _fuck_ he’d been so compelled to check out the spooky noises in the canal—

The ache in his arm throbbed and his mind fogged, dragging a tight whimper past his clenched teeth. Any attempt to move the limb or wiggle his fingers left him gasping. He was not in good shape and he knew it.

With some difficulty, Jim managed to wrestle his phone out of his pocket. Agonizing seconds passed as his wet thumb failed to register on the screen until he _finally_ picked his mother out of his contact list. He lay back on the ground and simply focused on breathing as the line rang.

He prayed she’d pick up.

Come on, _please . . ._

_“Don’t worry, Jim, I’m eating between patients. I swear, you’re worse than I could ever be.”_

The sound of his mother’s voice after such a terrifying event sent him crashing down the rest of the way. He didn’t have the strength to force down the sob that escaped.

“Mom, I—I need help,” he rasped, voice raw from yelling, and the lump in his throat. He could hear his mother instantly pause whatever she’d been doing.

_“Jim, are you okay? Where are you? What happened?”_

Burning eyes flashed to the forefront of his mind.

“I-I don’t _know.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol i've had this stupid thing in my head since like 2018 but didn't really commit until this year. idk why that's just how my motivation works (also really bored in quarantine since i graduated college). trollhunters was like the last hill i expected to die on and yet here we are. probably worth mentioning i have like 50k words of this already pre-written and since it's just sitting around collecting dust on my hard drive might as well actually um UPLOAD IT or something. especially since wizards drops later this week lmao. so needless to say i have a huge backlog of chapters and i haven't decided on an upload schedule yet but it'll either be weekly or twice a week. idk i'll figure it out later
> 
> each chapter is like minimum 4k words cause i have no clue how to get a point across


	2. Bright Sides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath and a pleasant encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all. wizards? i won't spoil anything but i will say two things about wizards. the animation budget was. FAT. and it showed holy shit. also they didn't get ron perlman back to voice bular and that's a crime but at least half the cast is from game of thrones so that was cool
> 
> anyway not a whole lot going on in this chapter just some follow up to the last one. the story starts out a bit slow in these first few but it picks up soon. this one's a little shorter

Spending the night in the ER with his mom was not one of Jim’s favorite things.

He’d hurt himself plenty on his bike growing up—a few times severe enough to land him in the hospital. The combined force of his mother’s trauma doctor mode with her panicked mom mode was always hard to deal with. Never quite like this, however. Now, she was practically unbearable. Even after all the pain was numbed and his head finally cleared, no amount of reassurances would slow her down.

Not once throughout the night could he find words to explain to her what had happened without sounding insane. So, he didn’t—opting instead to play it off as if he were still in shock.

His injuries weren’t as bad as he’d initially thought. They’d certainly _felt_ bad, but he’d gotten away with only a series of scrapes, bruises, and a fracture in his right arm where he’d been bitten. His shoulder turned out to have been dislocated, too.

The worst by far were the disfigured gouges in his forearm where teeth had torn into skin. They would leave scars; his mom had assured him. Jim was only grateful that he hadn’t lost his entire arm. Or his life.

His arm was dressed in a cast, which kinda sucked. On the bright side, he was allowed to pick the color of the plaster and now his arm proudly sported a handsome shade of blue. The bad news was his mother forced him into a sling because of his shoulder.

They returned home early the next morning. Jim, despite his exhaustion, couldn’t manage a wink of sleep without burning eyes jumping to mind every time he began drifting off. It took a lot of effort to convince his mother to let him attend school—the only thing that convinced her was the potential for his workload to become crippling if he fell any further behind.

And, to top it all off, she insisted on driving him.

“I want you to take it easy today,” she warned him when he got out of the car. “If you start feeling dizzy or you’re hurting then call me. I’ll have my phone on me all day. And don’t even think about taking off that sling.”

“Relax, Mom, it’s just school,” Jim sighed, exasperated. “I’m sure I’ll survive.”

“I want to hear you say you won’t take off the sling.”

“Swear to God, I will not take off the sling.”

“Alright,” she exhaled, sounding far more stressed than necessary. “You have my note on you?”

“In my pocket. Though, I doubt I need it to convince Coach Lawrence that I can’t really climb the rope.”

“And you’re sure you’ll be okay getting home? I can arrange a ride—”

“It’s not a hard walk. I’ll be _fine.”_

She went to say something else but stopped upon seeing the look on his face. Jim relaxed and grabbed his bag off his seat before throwing it over his good shoulder. “Love you, Mom. See you tonight,” he said with a small smile before shutting the door. She waved to him before easing away from the curb, sending him anxious glances until she was back on the road.

He received a lot of curious looks from the other students. He knew he still looked like a mess: arm wrapped up in a sling while his face carried the evidence of his embrace with the pavement the previous night. None of them inquired as to how he’d ended up that way, though, despite many sharing classes with him for the last three years.

Aside from one.

“What happened to you, Lake? Pick a fight with a bus and lose?” Steve Palchuk mocked him, chuckling to himself at his own joke. Jim offered no retort aside from a bored roll of the eyes. The big idiot was at least courteous enough not to touch him as he passed.

“Ugh, watch it, _Dumb-_ zalski!”

“Sorry, Steve!”

Jim smiled to himself at the exchange behind him. A second later, Toby fell in step at his side.

“Wow, dude, you were right. You look horrible.”

“Thanks. I try.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not really now, no. My mom loaded me up with pain meds so I just feel a little sore. Mostly just tired.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I was up all night worrying after I got your first text. Was sort of mad when my study buddy didn’t show up, but then I just felt horrible after finding out you were in the hospital. Can you believe you were attacked by a bear of all things?”

“No, I actually can’t,” Jim muttered, playing into the lie he’d given Toby the previous night. He felt bad for keeping his best friend in the dark, but what happened still didn’t feel real. Maybe if he kept pretending, he could convince himself it wasn’t a lie.

“But at least you get out of gym. See? Just got to look for the bright sides.”

“You’re right, Tobes. I guess getting mauled by an apex predator was a blessing in disguise.”

That blessing fell short as soon as he got to his locker. He always opened it with his right hand—using his left was awkward and took forever. He couldn’t even get his supplies into his backpack until Toby offered a hand. Jim realized that even simple things were going to be a lot more difficult. His mood soured at the thought.

It only worsened through history class when he tried taking notes. His attempts to write with his left hand not only failed to keep up with the lecture pace, but also in being legible to his own eyes. By the time the bell rang to dismiss class he was at the end of his patience.

Jim groaned in frustration as he slammed his pencil down on his notebook. “This is impossible!”

“Oh, come on. It can’t be _that_ hard to write with your other hand,” Toby said from the desk next to his. Jim shot him a dirty look as he attempted it himself, his left hand making slow, unsteady marks on the paper. He quickly gave up. “Sheesh. Maybe it _is_ that hard.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Jim huffed, turning back to the illegible mess he’d produced and running his good hand down his face. “I’m already so behind. How am I going to get any work done like this?”

“Hey.”

Jim glanced up and froze, heart stuttering in his chest. Claire Nuñez stood in front of his desk, hands tucked under the straps of her backpack and giving him a small smile. Somehow, he managed to shove down his surprise quickly enough to appear normal. Hopefully.

“Uh, hi, Claire,” he stammered.

“James, right?”

He blinked, amazed she even knew that much. “Oh, yeah. That’s right. But you can call me Jim, if you want.”

“Jim,” she repeated and his bad mood instantly vanished. “I noticed you were having a hard time writing with your other hand, and just now I heard you say that you’re behind. If you want, I could help you with your work?”

Jim wasn’t so certain he’d heard her correctly. She wanted to _help_ him? She’d hardly ever spared him a passing glance in the past three years of high school and suddenly _she_ was walking up to _him_ and offering to lend a hand?

Toby was right. There _were_ bright sides to fracturing his arm.

“You . . . good at math?”

“I am, actually. I’m doing dual-credit with indiscrete math.”

“What’s indiscrete math?”

“Mostly irrational number theory.” Jim stared blankly and she shrugged. “You’re doing pre-calc, right? I can do that in my sleep. Not to brag or anything.”

“No, no, that’s great! Brag away if you can help me finish this packet that’s due Friday. I’ll be forever in your debt.”

Her smile grew. “I might just hold you to that. We can do it at my house, if that’s okay. See you tonight at six? If you’re feeling up to it.”

Jim suddenly tensed as blurred memories of the previous night flashed through his head, of teeth and horns and eyes like fire—

“Jim?”

He shook himself out of his trance. “Oh, um. Sorry, I have to be home before it gets dark.” God, that sounded so _lame._ Like he had an early curfew. But he did _not_ want to chance another encounter with that _thing_ and . . . he wasn’t ready to admit he might be a little scared of the dark now. “Because—because my mom’s a trauma doctor and she works long shifts, so I like to have dinner ready for her by the time she gets home.”

“Oh, that’s sweet of you,” Claire said before eyeing his casted arm. “And you can cook with only one hand?”

“Please, I can cook with _both_ hands tied behind my back.” She gave a little laugh and his heart soared.

“That’s fine. We can just go to my place right after school. I only offered for later because my dad’s usually home when I get out and he’s, you know, an adult.”

“Right, we don’t like those. Uh, meet by the bike racks after school?”

“See you then.”

He watched her take her leave, catching up with her friends and effortlessly falling into the usual routine. Nothing could help the wide grin splitting his face at the fact that Claire had just invited him to her house. He remembered Toby next to him and looked over to find the boy staring with mouth agape.

Then Toby grinned. “Making. Your. Mark.”

“Dude, shut up.”

“You got Claire to talk to you! You’re killing it!”

“Yeah, I’m really _killing it_ with a busted arm.” Jim threw his book into his bag and fixed Toby with a flat glare. “And I don’t think I want my legacy to be everyone staring at me because I look like I got hit by a car.”

“Hey, don’t look a gift bear in the mouth. Your foot’s in the door—all you gotta do is walk through.”

“Into what? Physical therapy?”

“Higher social standing! Or in this case, Claire’s house. It’s basically the same thing.”

“Young Atlas.” Both Jim and Toby jumped to attention when Mr. Strickler stopped before them. He met Jim’s gaze and smiled. “Finally crushed by that world you insist on carrying?”

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it,” Jim shrugged lightheartedly. “Mostly just a bear though.”

“I feel regretful for not finding some way to accommodate your handicap before class. I assumed you’d be able to manage with your left hand, but,” his eyes flicked down to Jim’s paper, “that doesn’t appear to be the case. If you need, I can email you copies of the material I’m using.”

Jim relaxed in his seat and quirked his lips up in an embarrassed half-smile, delighted his history teacher was willing to reach out. Not that he expected anything less—Mr. Strickler had always been his favorite for a reason. “Thank you, Mr. Strickler, but I can just get the notes from Toby.”

Mr. Strickler hummed with a short nod. “In that case, I wish you a short recovery. You should hurry along so you’re not late for your next class. I’d recommend speaking with your other instructors so you don’t fall behind, though it sounds like you already have math covered.”

He winked before returning to his desk at the head of the room, leaving Jim to gape with a burning face. Toby snickered from his seat and yelped when Jim swatted at him.

* * *

Claire had a car.

Not that Jim would have minded the walk to her house, especially since she lived closer than he did, but the pain killers were wearing off and he was starting to get achy again. He definitely wasn’t going to complain about being confined to a small space alone with her—not when she was such lively conversation.

But he felt a bit inadequate for not having a vehicle. Or his license. Not very impressive.

 _“Papá,_ I’m home! And I brought over someone from school!” Claire shouted as she entered her house, Jim closely in tow. She turned back to him and said, “Jim, you can just drop your stuff on the couch. Make sure you take your shoes off.”

Jim kicked off his shoes by the door as she disappeared into the kitchen. He tried to distract himself from the awkwardness of being in Claire’s house by neatly arranging his work on the coffee table. He heard a man shout in Spanish upstairs and Jim jumped to his feet when he noticed whom he assumed was her dad descending.

 _“Cariño,_ I have to go in a bit earlier today. I just put Enrique down for his nap. He should sleep through the evening, but if he doesn’t you can let him watch TV until your mother comes home. Just don’t let her catch him doing it.” He paused upon noticing Jim and his eyes narrowed. “Who is this boy?”

Jim’s mind blanked under the man’s scrutinizing gaze and he simply stared back, petrified. Claire came to his rescue an instant later. “Dad, this is Jim Lake. He’s in my grade. I’m just helping him with school work.”

“You have a lovely house, Mr. Nuñez,” Jim said politely.

“Thank you. It’s my wife’s.” It took Jim a second too long to catch the joke and he chuckled awkwardly. The man cocked his head and frowned. “What happened to your arm?”

“He was attacked by a bear,” Claire said.

Her father’s eyes widened in alarm. “There’s bears around Arcadia?”

“Yeah, apparently,” Jim said with a weak laugh, “but it was kind of a freak occurrence.”

“Jim’s a little behind on schoolwork because of his arm, so I offered to help him catch up,” Claire said with a gesture to the papers on the coffee table. Well, that wasn’t _entirely_ true, but he had a feeling she was doing it on purpose to appeal to her father, who seemed very reluctant to have a teenage boy in his house.

Mr. Nuñez cocked his brow. “You’re not using my daughter to cheat, are you?”

“Dad,” Claire warned. “You know I wouldn’t help anyone cheat. Don’t you have work soon?”

Her father chuckled endearingly before heading into the kitchen. Claire mouthed an _I’m sorry_ at Jim, who shrugged back with an understanding smile. He figured he was free to sit with the initial introductions out of the way and he relaxed back onto the couch. He only tensed slightly when Mr. Nuñez returned with wallet and keys in hand.

“Can I trust you two to behave yourselves?” Claire’s father directed at both of them, weary gaze lingering a moment longer on Jim.

“We are literally just doing schoolwork,” Claire answered irritably, growing stiffer by the minute.

Mr. Nuñez only smiled at his daughter’s frustration. Her crossed arms and severe glare did nothing to deter him from pulling her into a loose hug and planting a kiss on her forehead. He gestured at Jim in a way that said _I’m watching you_ and Claire snapped, shoving him the rest of the way out the door.

“Oh my god. That was even worse than I was expecting,” she groaned into her hands after returning to the living room. “I promise, my dad’s not usually that bad. He just likes to pull the dad card whenever I’m around boys. We’re really lucky he had to leave early today—he’s usually here for another hour.”

“It’s fine, really,” Jim smiled. “I’m only a little scared of him.”

Claire wound around the coffee table before taking a seat at his side. “That’s probably a good thing or he’ll try to catch you off guard. Believe it or not, my mom’s much worse.”

“I’ve seen Councilwoman Nuñez debate. I would not want to be on the receiving end of that.”

“Exactly my point.” Claire gestured to the scattered worksheets in front of them. “So, math?”

“Oh, right. The bane of my existence,” Jim grumbled while scrambling for the paper he’d worked on most recently. “I managed to chip away at some of it, but unfortunately, I can’t blame my inability to understand functions on my busted arm.”

Or limits. Or logarithms. Or polynomials. Honestly, he used to kill it with graphs back in the day until letters got involved. He was suddenly self-conscious about his lack of competence in high school math—Claire was taking college-level math and he was just barely managing to scrape by.

“Well, that’s what I’m here for. I promise, by the time we’re done with your homework, you’ll be able to do functions in your sleep.” There was no judgment in her voice, or her eyes, or her smile. Just determination to see it through. God, she was perfect.

“I’m sorry in advance if I’m a slow learner,” he said sheepishly, staring down at his paper to distract himself from how warm he felt. “Math has never really been my bag.”

“Usually that means you’re a creative thinker, and that’s totally fine. You just have to take it slow and work your way through until you get it, however long it takes. And I _will_ get you understanding functions.”

Jim couldn’t find the words to express his appreciation; he managed a crooked smile and a grateful chuckle, eagerly jumping to the first problem before his brain shut down entirely. But despite doing homework for his least favorite subject, he was motivated and inspired by her words.

And she had not been kidding about being good at math. She broke problems up into steps that were easy to follow without sounding patronizing or undermining his intelligence—he got over feeling stupid pretty quickly and focused on just listening and understanding. With her guidance, it didn’t take long for him to begin working through the problems on his own, with only occasional hints.

“You make it look so easy,” Jim sighed after finally solving a particularly tricky problem.

“It’s all just practice. Once you learn the rules and remember where to apply them, it starts to naturally flow together in a way that makes sense. Like learning another language.”

“I wish my handwriting made sense. It’s like trying to _read_ another language.”

Claire was a saint for being so patient with him. His deficiency in math already slowed him down, but his non-dominant hand put him at an agonizing crawl. Only a few hours had passed and he was only half done, and even less than that was readable.

“Could be worse. I’ve seen boys with worse penmanship.”

Jim cocked an eyebrow at her. “Only boys?”

“Rule of nature.” She shrugged like it was obvious and he laughed.

“I’m sorry this is taking so long,” he said after the moment passed. “I’ve never written with my left hand before.”

“Look, Jim, I am entirely able to see that your arm’s busted. I was fully aware of what I was getting into when I offered to help you catch up. You don’t have to apologize for needing help.”

“I know, I know, I’m—” He had to stop himself from uttering another _I’m sorry._ “I really appreciate you taking the time to help me.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We still have to get you through this packet. Now that you’re getting the concepts, you’ll probably zip right through the rest of it tomorrow.”

Jim faltered. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Claire said with a slightly confused smile. “You said you needed to get back home before dark, right? We can just do this again tomorrow, if that works.”

It took a second before realization clicked in his brain and Jim glanced out the window. The sky was bright orange from a fading sun—the color reminded him of burning eyes.

“Oh, shit, I wasn’t paying attention,” Jim said quickly, grabbing his papers and rising to his feet. Immediately, the ache in his bones made itself known and he faltered with a pained grunt.

“Are you okay?” Claire asked in concern as she joined him in standing, a steadying hand carefully grazing his shoulder.

Jim kept still until the throbbing subsided somewhat. “Yeah. I’m still pretty sore from last night and I guess the pain meds finally wore off.”

“I have aspirin in the kitchen if you need it.”

“That’d be perfect.”

As much as his awkward personality screamed at him to deny any offerings in fear of being a bother, his poor body was just a little bit louder. Jim eased himself back onto the couch and finished shoving his papers into his bag while Claire went into the kitchen. She came back with pills and a glass of water.

“Feel better?” she asked after he swallowed.

“We’ll find out in a minute,” he said, handing her the glass. His chest seized and he broke into a wheezing cough, each heave of his shoulders sending aching pains through his sore muscles. He cleared his throat after it passed. “Sorry. Tickle in my throat,” he rasped, refusing a second offering of the water. His skin tingled beneath his cast and he pulled a face, wishing he could scratch the itch away.

Claire, after ensuring he was fine, set the glass down on the coffee table and picked up his bag before shouldering it. “Come on,” she said cheerfully, “I’ll give you a ride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so since i feel these starting chapters are a little slow i'm gonna upload 3 and 4 before the end of the week and just stick to weekly updates after that. lets me keep a comfortable buffer that way, especially since wizards makes me want to reconsider some things for later. direction probably isn't going to change but now i want to integrate some of the new elements introduced lol
> 
> so idk i'll throw 3 up in a couple days


	3. It's Just a Cough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seemed benign, until Jim found himself in the middle of town with no memory of the previous night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i call this one the em dash special
> 
> i think this is the last time i have a chapter under 4k words lol. this was rewritten like four times following the first draft cause i just could not get it feeling right but i think it's okay now

“Jim, I think you might need to cancel your study date today,” his mother said after he lost his second spatula to the floor.

“Come on, I’m finally catching back up,” he croaked between coughs, his voice scraping like gravel. He cleared his throat before fishing out another clean spatula to finish preparing his breakfast. “And please don’t call it that. It makes it weird.”

“You getting that girl sick might make it even weirder.”

“I’m not _sick,_ Mom. It’s just a cough.” Right on cue, another round of hacking nearly cost him his omelet when he transferred it to his plate. He dumped the pan into the sink and made his way to the table.

“That’s a pretty bad cough for someone who’s not sick, and you’ve been getting worse all week,” she said after swallowing a bite of her own omelet (that he’d so generously prepared before his own).

“I’ll take some cough syrup again and I’ll be fine.” Jim set his plate down before hissing in discomfort—a familiar, burning itch flared beneath his cast. He rubbed his palm over the plaster, wishing that, for _once,_ he could get his nails beneath. “This itching is driving me crazy,” he complained.

“Casts tend to do that,” his mother shrugged. “It’s a good thing you didn’t break your arm or you’d be in that thing a lot longer. Just hang in there.”

Jim gave up on relieving his arm and slouched in his seat, using his appetite to distract from the incessant itching. Handicapped or not, his cooking still reigned strong—but his sore throat didn’t do him any favors.

“I’m glad you’re reaching out for help with your schoolwork. I was worried losing the use of your arm might set you back further.” She paused when he turned away to cough into his arm. He could practically hear the smile in her voice when she said, “And you’ve definitely committed to your studying. You’re spending quite a lot of time at that girl’s house.”

 _“Mom._ We’re just— _cough—s_ tudying. That’s all. She’s an honors student and I’m— _cough—_ using her as a resource.”

He glanced over to see his mother grinning down at her food. “I know, honey. I’m just teasing you,” she relented, showing far more mercy than Claire’s dad ever would. Though, the fact that his mother knew he was only at a girl’s house to study really said a lot about his strive for adventure and his love life. “Have you been sleeping any better?”

“A little. I’m not having as many nightmares now.”

His mother didn’t seem exactly thrilled with that answer. “I want you to tell me if you keep having them. I’ll put you into counseling if you need it.”

“I don’t need counseling.” I just need people to stop _bringing it up,_ Jim thought to himself. The itch returned and he tapped at his cast irritably, clenching his fist and grimacing as a dull ache shot up his arm. He shoveled the rest of the omelet into his mouth and nearly spat it all back out as his chest seized again.

He heard his mother hum disapprovingly from across the table. “I think I should get you tested again. God knows what that bear might have given you.” Jim was too busy drawing air into his lungs to respond but that didn’t stop him from shaking his head. “Oh, relax, I won’t make you do it now. I don’t go in until this evening and I’ll be in the ER all night. But expect it to happen _soon.”_

“Sure, Mom, whatever you say. I gotta go,” Jim rasped, picking up his plate and dumping it on his mother’s before taking them both to the sink. He reached into the cabinet and pulled out the cough syrup.

“Already? I thought you weren’t going to study until after noon.”

“I gotta go get Friday’s history notes from Toby and we’re gonna try to fix my bike.” The fluid was bitter and he pulled a face as it went down, but it soothed his raw throat. His mother watched him throw on a jacket before shouldering his backpack—thank _god_ she’d finally let him take off the sling—and cocked an eyebrow, impressed.

“If fracturing your arm is all it takes to get you so focused on school, maybe I should let you provoke bears more often.”

“Ha, _ha,”_ he drawled over his shoulder as he stepped through the door.

* * *

_“It’s just a cough.”_

Jim groaned as he was slowly dragged from unconsciousness. Light seared through his eyelids and he grimaced as he became aware of an unbelievably foul taste in his mouth. Everything ached. A deep, searing, _miserable_ ache in his bones.

_“Are you sure? It sounds pretty bad,” Claire said, a hand pressed lightly between his shoulder blades._

_“It’s fine, I’m—” His croaking reassurance was shattered as he folded in on himself; seized by wet, violent hacks that tore at him from the inside out. He was sweating now. His hands trembled. He tasted iron on his tongue._

_He felt her grab his shoulder to steady him. “I think I should take you home. You’ve been getting worse all day.”_

His eyes fluttered open and he threw an arm up to block the sun, which was hovering somewhere overhead. His vision was blurred—everything spun and he had to shut his eyes to ward off the feeling of impending vomit. It passed after several moments and he swallowed thickly before trying again.

He saw brick. A brick wall loomed nearby with some loose trash scattered at its base. His eyes slowly followed the shredded cans and broken bottles, and it was then he realized he was lying on a haphazard pile of flattened cardboard and other random junk.

Jim recoiled in disgust but collapsed again with a gasp when a sharp pain stabbed at his back. The length of his spine throbbed—it felt like he’d been compressed like an accordion. Catching his breath, he let his eyes roam as the discomfort passed. There was another wall at his flank and he recognized the alley behind the Arcadia cinema. An old dumpster, its color faded from filth, sat just behind him, opened to the sky.

Well, that explained the trash. And the awful smell.

Wait— _what the hell?_

Jim eased himself upright, careful to keep his back straight. The movement made other ailments apparent—his skull pounded fiercely and he placed a hand against his forehead. His teeth throbbed in his mouth and he forced his jaw to relax to unclench them. His skin tingled all over and he felt terribly stiff.

He had no recollection of how he got there. He remembered being at Claire’s house, then her taking him home after his cough got worse, and—

Nothing.

His memory fizzled out right after walking through the front door. Attempting to recall what happened next just made his head hurt worse. Absently, he wondered what time it was. The sun’s position overhead told him at least well into the morning. Someone probably missed him by now.

A fierce itch flared along his forearm and he scratched at it to relieve the irritation. Sitting up, he patted down his pants for his phone and was disappointed to find it absent—just his luck if he’d dropped it somewhere during his night of mystery.

And then he froze after realizing that he’d just _scratched_ his arm.

He glanced down and stared at the stretch of skin he hadn’t seen in almost a week—skin that was clammy and puffy and red around puncture marks that were already scarred over. Tentatively, he clenched his fist, and was shocked when he didn’t feel the fracture’s familiar ache. The cast was nowhere to be found. Jim didn’t see any sign of blue plaster nearby and couldn’t remember ever taking it off—or that it could even come off.

Oh well, he thought as he eagerly scratched at the angry skin, too tired and sore and disoriented to really give a shit. One thing at a time—he ought to get home and make sure his mom wasn’t losing her mind. Jim gingerly rose to his feet, steadying himself on the wall. Vertigo washed over him and his stomach churned nauseatingly as the world spun. He moaned and pressed a hand to his belly, only to discover the mangled state of his shirt. It was stretched and torn, like it’d been caught on something. Several times.

Whatever he’d been up to the night before had to have been from sleepwalking, or something. Really, _really_ heavy sleepwalking. That had to have been it. Staggering out of the alley, Jim noticed that he was only a couple miles from home. That was fortunate because he was very sore and very tired. And, as it turned out, very much not wearing shoes.

The walk home was a numb, dazed journey. Jim swayed on his feet; dizzy, weary, and it was a miracle he managed to stay upright. Even more so that he could guide himself in the right direction. His thoughts drifted on their own.

_“Goddamn it,” Jim swore, kicking at flaccid rubber. “Wheel’s popped.”_

_Toby inspected the treads for any tearing after attempting to air Jim’s bike tires. The front had been fine but the back was punctured from when claws had slashed it. He made a face, “No spares?”_

_“Not anymore,” Jim sighed as he sat down in Toby’s driveway, gesturing at his own garage across the street. “Used the last one after I clipped that broken bottle a few months ago. You remember?”_

_“How could I forget after your mom lost her mind when you walked in with hardly any skin left on your shoulder?”_

_Jim laughed, the memory of his mother’s reaction more scarred into his brain than the pain of the accident. His laughter caught in his throat and he bent over with another fit of coughing._

_“You sure you want to go to Claire’s like that? That sounds pretty nasty.”_

_Jim scowled at him. “It’s just a cough,” he said hoarsely, fingers drumming over his cast as the skin flared beneath._

Jim hissed as he stepped on something sharp, tearing him out of his wandering thoughts. Passersby gave him curious glances as he ambled along the sidewalk, undoubtedly looking like a zombie. He paid them no mind as he made for his street.

_Jim paused in reciting his Spanish assignment when Claire suddenly laughed into her hand. He eyed her with mild amusement. “Did I say something funny?”_

_“Maybe a little. Your conjugation’s spot on but you used the wrong verb. You called yourself boring.”_

_Jim glanced down at his paper to reread the sentence he’d wrote, taking a moment to find his error. “I meant to say that.”_

_“Oh, well, in that case, totally flawless. Perfect assertion.”_

_“Thank_ _you! Finally, some recognition.”_

_A grin formed on her face as her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. His face split to match her smile. He felt it coming and turned away to cough into his arm, wincing at how sore his throat was._

_“Are you okay? Do you want to take a break?” he heard her say._

_Jim cleared his throat and shook his head before turning back to her and forcing a smile. “I’m good. Just a little cough.”_

Jim stumbled through his front door and slammed it shut. Curiously enough, his shoes were sitting by the door where they always were. He shook his head and made for the kitchen before tearing open the medicine cabinet and digging through it for painkillers—he squinted blearily as he read the labels on the bottles, and realized something.

His cough was gone.

Not that he was complaining—his throat felt like it’d been stripped raw, but he could have sworn he’d been hacking his guts out just the previous night. It was weird that it was just suddenly gone. His mother wasn’t home to answer any of his questions, either—a fortunate thing, really, or she’d have flipped when he walked in looking like _that._ But, on the other hand, her being absent meant he didn’t have her expertise, and he couldn’t be called in sick.

Oh, _shit._ It was Monday, wasn’t it? He just straight up didn’t go to school. Jim exhaled sourly and dropped his face into his hands, just _knowing_ that his absence was going to set his workload back again.

 _“Fuck,”_ he swore under his breath, sliding his hands up into his hair as he took a steadying breath to calm down. His bangs slicked back along his head and stayed there, and his fingers came back feeling greasy.

God, he needed a shower.

To hell with school. He was feeling too ill to worry about it. Right now, he needed to get cleaned up and into bed. He dragged himself up the stairs and into the bathroom—but not before glancing at his room, tempted to launch himself straight into bed.

Nah. No amount of pain or sick was going to stop him from ridding himself of God knows what he was covered in. He woke up next to a dumpster, for fuck’s sake. He would not sleep in that filth _again._

He felt a hundred times better once he’d left the bathroom—freshly showered with his teeth brushed—and a lot of that was due to the painkillers finally kicking in. He still felt feverish, though. Just a lot cleaner. Jim lumbered back to his room on autopilot, his head swimming, and blindly tossed his clothes in the direction of the hamper. He had just enough sense to pull on a fresh pair of boxers before collapsing face first on his bed.

The painkillers dulled the ache in his bones but it didn’t rid him of all his discomforts. He felt hot. Too hot to sleep, but he was so _tired._ He drifted, toeing the line of unconsciousness, his mind drifting on its own.

_“You know, I’m curious,” he began, a little nervously. He felt the couch shift slightly as Claire turned to regard him._

_“About what?”_

_“You,” he answered quickly before he lost his courage. He tentatively met her eyes. “Why do you want to help me so much? Not that I don’t appreciate it—I really do—but we weren’t very acquainted.”_

_Her smile faltered and her eyes fell in thought. “I think . . . it was because I felt bad,” she answered after a moment, shrugging lightly, “because of your arm. Not really because you hurt it, but because I’d never talked to you_ until _you got hurt, despite us sharing a ton of classes since freshman year. I talk to a lot of people, so it just seemed silly that I really never talked to_ you.”

Jim whimpered in his half-sleep, shivering despite how warm he felt. Hulking masses of shadow blurred in his mind—burning eyes branded behind his eyelids. His fingers clawed into the sheets and fisted them, trembling.

_Jim glanced at his arm, his skin crawling beneath the cast, itching fiercely. He drummed his fingers over it. “You didn’t have to help me with all this,” he said._

_“No, I didn’t,” Claire declared brightly before shooting him a happy smile. “But I wanted to. Figured it’d be a good way to say hi after three years.”_

_“Well, in that case—” Jim held out his right hand in offering. The cast was gone. “Ms. Nuñez, allow me to introduce myself. The name’s James Lake Junior—senior at Arcadia Oaks High.”_

_Something dark and thick oozed out of the scars on his arm like blood, coating his skin. It hissed and smoked as it hit the air. Claire met him in the middle with a firm grip and a sobered expression. “Claire Nuñez: Arcadia Oaks senior and dual-credit at Arcadia Tech. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lake.”_

_“The pleasure is mine,” he said with a bow of his head. The wisps of smoke jumped from his hand to hers. They gave a single, hearty shake before recoiling in laughter._

_His laugh broke into a cough. He saw Claire disappear, still smiling as she was swallowed by coiling darkness, leaving him behind with his hand still outstretched. The smoke ate away at him, dissolving his skin and leaving behind nothing but a shell. Then, it fell away, crumbling to ash, leaving him exposed and small. Bare._

_The darkness churned around him and his eyes followed the mass of shadow upwards and he recognized the monstrous silhouette of black towering over him, orange eyes like fire. Like the sun. His arm burned, but he felt cold._

_The mass surged forward with a roar and consumed him like a breaking wave, dragging him down until he was drowning, further and further into oblivion until he was falling—falling so quickly his eyes couldn’t decipher his surroundings, and he couldn’t run fast enough—_

_Running. He was running. Where? From what?_ To _what? Where_ was _he?_

_He recognized trees. Cool air breathed over his skin. There were lights—Arcadia, he thought. They grew brighter until they blurred together, and then he was looking at the moon, reaching for it—a piece of familiarity in the darkness that threatened to suffocate him. He could see black creeping at the edges of his vision, drawing closer, closing in, blocking out the light, and he—_

_He didn’t feel scared. The darkness felt . . . empowering. It felt safe. It felt like . . . like_ home.

_Something slammed in the distance and he flinched as the sound echoed around him. The comfort of darkness was suddenly flooded with intense light, and somehow, he knew it was the sun. He recoiled in alarm as he was blinded._

And he realized it was because he’d opened his eyes.

“Jim?”

Jim blinked away the lingering remnants of his nightmare, along with the spots in his retinas. It took him a long moment to realize the fuzzy shape standing in his bedroom doorway was his mom. She was staring at him with a look of bewilderment, as if she’d just walked in and was surprised to find him there.

Which was fair since he should be at school.

His brain caught up and he scrambled under the sheet with an undignified shriek upon remembering he was only in his underwear. _“Mom!”_ he cried, the rawness of his throat making his voice crack sharply. _“Why_ are you here?!”

“I’m home from my shift,” she answered slowly, a brow gradually climbing higher with her growing perplexity. “Tough morning, so I just got off.”

Jim sighed as he willed his heart to slow and rubbed tiredly at his face. “I mean, why are you in my room?”

“I saw your shoes by the stairs and was curious.”

“Well, can you leave? I’m not even dressed.”

“Oh, honey, you know I don’t care—”

 _“I_ care!”

“—and I don’t even have my glasses on. Why are _you_ home? Didn’t school start two hours ago?”

His mom hadn’t caught his absence. She didn’t know about his morning spent sleeping next to a dumpster. And she didn’t _need_ to know any of that.

“. . . I felt sick.”

It wasn’t a lie. His stomach still roiled unpleasantly and he felt really stiff. The bliss of his shower had worn off during his nap and now he felt damp and sticky. His eyelids felt like lead. His mom’s expression softened with concern and she uncrossed her arms before coming to sit on the edge of his bed. Jim pulled the sheet higher but didn’t protest, instead relaxing under her touch.

“Feels like you have a fever,” she said gently after pulling her hand away from his forehead. “That explains why the comforter’s on the floor. Why didn’t you call and let me know?”

Jim hadn’t realized he’d thrashed so much in his sleep. Nightmares came often after his monstrous encounter, but he didn’t usually throw such a fit. But, then again, this one had been different from the usual sensation of being chased. “Sorry. I’ve been kind of out of it and I completely forgot about my phone.”

He reached over and grabbed the device from his nightstand, relieved to find it sitting there. Odd that he left without it. His screen showed a million texts from Toby inquiring of his whereabouts and if he was okay.

“It’s just one thing after another with you, isn’t it?”

“I have a feeling it’s not going to be my year,” he chuckled humorlessly, scratching at his forearm. His mother’s eyes followed his movement vigilantly before narrowing.

“Jim,” she said neutrally, but there was an air of warning to her tone, “where’s your cast?”

He froze mid-scratch, having forgotten that that was a thing he was supposed to be wearing. “Um,” he began hesitantly, but drew a complete blank on where to go from there. With no other options, he settled for the truth: “I have no idea.”

“Jim.”

“I’m serious! I don’t remember taking it off, it’s just—it’s just gone. But . . .” He rolled his shoulder and flexed his wrist. “It feels fine.”

His mother watched him maneuver the limb around without difficulty, though she didn’t appear entirely convinced. “Well, since you’re home, today might be a good day to get you checked out at the clinic.”

“You’re not forcing me out of bed already, are you?”

“Well, let’s see. _You’re_ too sick for school, and _I_ just got home from a late-late shift. Sounds to me like we both could use a bit of rest before going anywhere. Heaven knows you need the sleep, anyway.”

Jim sighed gratefully and sunk back into his pillows, closing his eyes. He felt his mom run her hand soothingly through his hair.

“Just take it easy today. I’m going to grab some cold medicine for you and then I’ll leave you alone,” she said. Jim glanced up at her and frowned.

“But I don’t think I have a cold.”

“Oh, it’s not to treat a cold—it’s to knock you out.”

He smiled after her as she exited his room. It felt weird being in the position of need—even if the roles were typically reversed in a normal family. But Jim had been taking care of his mom for so long he could hardly remember a time when he hadn’t.

He liked it, though. It was a reminder of their partnership—just him and his mom versus the world. They took care of each other.

His mother soon returned with a capful of medicine and he knocked it back with little complaint. Then he sent a quick text to Toby about explaining later and tossed it back onto the nightstand before settling in his sheets.

“You’re not coughing. Did it finally go away?”

Jim shrugged, already feeling exhaustion dragging him back under. “Guess I’m getting better.” His mother smiled before exiting his room.

The medicine made him sleep hard. This time, he dreamt of nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meant to upload this way earlier today but i forgot oopsies
> 
> anyway see u on sunday


	4. Mirror Image

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim has a rough night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this chapter includes some graphic descriptions. not like anything super horrible but i think it's still necessary to give a heads up. warnings include some body horror and vomiting. please let me know if anything else needs included
> 
> also i wrote this nearly a year ago and holy SHIT did it need some serious revisions

His arm was healed.

That's what a trip to the clinic later that day revealed. The x-rays showed a clean radius—no fracture lines to be seen. All that remained was scarring and the enflamed skin around it, but even that was quickly fading. His mother was astonished at how quickly he’d healed. It should have taken weeks for the bone to recover, yet he’d managed in less than one.

Honestly, he was just grateful to get out of the cast.

"Yeah, I'm pretty much back to normal," Jim said happily as he spooned hot soup into his mouth. His mom, before leaving for work that evening, had insisted he eat _something_ after a day of eating nothing. He still had no appetite, but she was right, so he pushed through. "Aside from being sick or whatever."

"Guess this means you don't need your homework crutch anymore, isn't that right?" Toby replied playfully over the phone.

"Are you kidding? I'm going to milk this for as long as Claire lets me. She’s super cool and actually makes studying fun."

"Ah, I see. So, _I'm_ the boring one. I get it."

"Aw, Tobes, buddy, I didn't mean it like that. I know I've been kind of neglecting you these past couple days, and I'm sorry—”

"Jim, my dude, don't sweat it! I'm just joking. I'm not mad you've finally gotten your chance _and_ you're getting something good out of it. I'm a patient man—I can wait for you to do your thing."

"I'll make it up to you. Promise."

“Just make me best man at your wedding.”

He rolled his eyes. "Well, I'd feel bad if I got Claire sick so I might just leave her alone for a couple days. I'm all yours in the meantime."

"Okay, cool, but I am _not_ coming over there. Last thing I want to do is catch the J-virus and wake up in the middle of town, amirite?" Toby laughed.

Jim chuckled wearily in turn, certain Toby didn't believe him about that. Actually, Jim wasn't sure he believed it himself. Everything before his fever nap felt like a dream.

Maybe it _had_ been a dream. Did he really wake up in the middle of town this morning?

"Sure. We can just radio our homework."

"Everything is homework with you these days. Relax for a second and play some League or something."

"Toby, you could be on your deathbed and I wouldn't play League."

"One of these days, Jimbo. One of these days."

Jim bid a quick goodbye to his friend before hanging up and working on finishing his soup in the silence of his empty house. The sun was setting, pinkening the sky outside with its waning light and pushing the house into darkness. He leaned over to flip on the kitchen light but stopped just short of the switch on the wall. He wasn't sure why he reconsidered, but he dropped his hand and resumed eating his soup in the dimming kitchen.

Something just felt . . . _comfortable_ about the dark.

A weird and contradictory feeling, considering his fear of the night for the past week following the _incident._ But now, the dark just felt embracing. Safe, even, like he was hidden. It was strange.

Absentmindedly, he scratched the itchy scars on his arm.

Everything just felt confusing. All day, he'd been convinced of where he'd woken up that morning, but hearing Toby joke about it like it was some silly story had him second-guessing himself. It'd seemed so real, but . . . he still had no memory of getting there to begin with. No memory of the previous night at all. He remembered being at Claire's house, and her dropping him off, and . . . nothing. Blank slate.

He tried to remember. Only fuzzy sensations came to him, like a forgotten dream. A distant ache in his arm prickled at the back of his mind, but focusing on it just gave him a headache. He gave up with a shake of his head and dumped his empty bowl into the sink.

Jim figured an early sleep would do him some good. The sun was nearly set and he used the last of its light to maneuver the dark house and make his way up the stairs.

He was halfway up when his arm _exploded_ with pain.

Jim fumbled with a sharp inhale and slapped a hand over his scars, but the touch did nothing to ease the sting. He could feel it pulsing with his heartbeat—searing, stabbing, _burning—_ clawing under his skin like it wanted to breathe. It was too dark to see what was wrong and he arched his back with a strangled cry as his skin felt like it was trying to peel away from the bone.

By the time he realized he’d lost his balance, it was too late. Jim yelped as he plummeted backwards, slipping as he grasped for the banister and crashing down the stairs. He hit the floor _hard_ and cracked his head against the wall, making stars explode behind his eyes.

None of it compared to the fire in his arm.

_Jim staggered into his room, swaying on his feet, bumping into the walls. He was halfway to his bed before his legs gave out and he collapsed. The pain was enough to make him scream, his nails scraping the floor as his muscles convulsed and his fingers curled._

This was familiar. This _pain_ was familiar. He’d felt it before.

_He was helpless. He shivered and writhed uncontrollably as the open wounds in his arm wept a thick, wispy darkness that slowly crawled up his arm, hissing as it devoured his skin, consuming him._

_It was by far the most painful thing he’d ever experienced._

Jim threw his head back with a tortured wail as the pain embraced his hand, the bones slowly shifting beneath his skin and making his fingers flex in ways they were definitely not supposed to. His teeth clenched so tight he feared they’d shatter.

_Something snapped in his arm. Tears spilled from his eyes and he howled in blind agony, but the sound that came from his mouth was not human._

Last night. This happened last night.

He remembered.

That same coiling darkness gradually crawled up his arm and over his shoulder. It spread across his chest and up his neck, then along his jaw, slowly consuming his face. His teeth throbbed in his mouth. His eyes burned. His heartbeat, deafening to his own ears, beat viciously at his skull.

Then it spread everywhere, swallowing him whole. Fire coursed through his muscles and his bones clicked into place and he was screaming, _begging_ for it to be over, for him to pass out or die or whatever it took to just make it _stop_.

And then it did.

Jim didn’t move. He didn’t open his eyes. He lay there, feeling faint and nauseous, panting. Shaking. The pain was gone, reduced to a faint ache in nothing but his arm, but the fresh memory haunted him and he was afraid to move, like it would invite it back. His head still hurt.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there. Hours, maybe—he didn’t know.

Finally, he opened his eyes in fluttering blinks.

Everything was blurry—just vague shapes spilling into one another—and it was too _bright_. The living room threatened to roll and flip his world upside down and Jim moaned as his stomach roiled. He clenched his eyes shut against the dizziness, waiting for the nausea to pass. Carefully, he inched himself to a sitting position, his arms trembling violently. He felt like a newborn kitten for how weak he was.

Everything was just numb now. A weird, buzzing numbness in his body and mind, like his nerves were white noise. There was a dark spot on the wall where he’d hit his head and he realized it was blood—he reached back to run his fingers through his hair and felt sticky warmth, but didn’t feel any sting of injury. He brought his hand back and squinted at the blood.

And froze.

That’s—that’s _not_ his hand.

That’s _not_ _his hand._

He stared at it in horror—at the dark, patchy skin—at the four thick fingers and very _lacking_ presence of a fifth. Slowly, he flexed them. The hand that was definitely _not his_ mimicked his mental commands perfectly as it curled into a loose fist.

The hand uncurled and he tried to move his ring finger. The ghost of the digit was all that registered in his brain.

Jim lurched forward and vomited, spewing the few contents of his stomach over the entryway floor. He was empty in an instant and left to dry-heave with sputtering coughs. Well, so much for the effort he’d gone to eating. He groaned once his retching ceased, bile and spittle stringing from his mouth until he clumsily wiped it away with a trembling arm. The smell hit his nose and he recoiled as it _burned_ in his nostrils, overloading his senses and making him feel sick all over. Desperate to put some distance between himself and the foul stench, Jim pushed himself to his feet and—

He stumbled headfirst into the wall and yelped as he dropped back onto the floor with a heavy thud. The banister rattled from the vibrations and rang painfully in his ears as he lay there, stunned. With a grunt, he picked himself off the floor again and immediately lost his balance once more. He crashed into the stairs.

What the hell, he thought. His equilibrium was _way_ off and he didn’t know why. The dizziness was fading but he couldn’t seem to get a handle on his momentum. Jim straightened and took care to steady himself, firmly gripping the railing. Only then did he realize _both_ of his hands were affected by—whatever. Jim examined them carefully, turning each over in turn. They looked . . . crusty. And thicker, like a hard shell had been stretched over his skin. His nails were also thicker, as well as dark and angular; curved ever so slightly downwards.

"What—" Jim began but choked as his words caught fast in his throat, which felt like sandpaper. He nearly tipped over again until he caught the bannister.

Why did he feel so off-balance?

Clearing his throat, Jim carefully made his way up the stairs. He pushed his way into the bathroom, nervously eyeing his hands the whole time, and stopped in front of the mirror. He looked up.

Jim exchanged glances with a pair of glowing eyes and screamed.

He jerked away so violently he couldn't stop his momentum from carrying him into the shower, tripping and bringing the curtain down on top of him, rod and all, until he sat folded, blind, in the bathtub. In a panic, Jim clawed at the curtain. The sound of something ripping made him freeze. Slowly, he pulled the curtain away to find a lengthy tear in the fabric where his nails were lodged. He tugged them free and threw the curtain off before struggling out of the tub.

He caught his reflection again. At least, he _thought_ it was his reflection. It moved when he did, but it looked _nothing like him._

What Jim saw in the mirror was not Jim. This— _thing—_ had skin like cobalt ashes: dark and flaky, a deep blue. There was a sharpness to its features, like they’d been carved from stone. Long, pointed ears framed its face and a pair of tusks protruded from a slight underbite. And there was just . . . _so_ much hair. Thick, wild hair that stuck out everywhere.

This was _not_ Jim. This was not his reflection. This—this was a monster. A gruesome, hellish monster. For fuck's sake, it had _horns!_ Jim reached above his brow and, sure enough, felt the ridged forms protruding above his hairline and curving back along his skull.

No wonder he was so goddamn top-heavy.

He was seconds from losing his shit. With a trembling hand, Jim slowly reached out and touched the mirror using a single meaty finger. The monster mimicked him perfectly.

 _"Oh my god,"_ Jim breathed as he whirled away from his reflection, his voice like grinding gravel in his throat. He clutched at his face and paced back and forth, nails digging into his skin. It felt hard, like a stiff layer of clay. "This isn't real. I'm dreaming. This is a nightmare. I'm just sleeping in my bed having another nightmare," he muttered to himself hysterically.

Except, he wasn't convincing himself _at all._

"Fuck, fuck fuck fuck _fuck.”_ He glanced at his reflection again as he paced—he looked like Satan Junior in pajamas. It'd be funny if he wasn't _completely freaking out._

In his panic he tripped over his own feet and stumbled headfirst into the door.

Stupid _fucking_ horns.

With a frustrated cry he punched the door—

—and was shocked when his fist went _all the way through._

"Oh, _shit,"_ Jim breathed as he stared at where his arm disappeared through the wood. He peeked around and watched his wiggling fingers on the other side. He gingerly pulled his hand free and carefully pushed the door out of the way. “Okay, definitely real.” He absently flexed his fingers—he hadn't felt a _thing_ —and straightened before walking into the hallway.

Or tried to. He staggered back a step when his horns clacked against the top of the door frame. Jim, after a tense moment of easing his rising temper, frowned. How was his head that close to the top of the frame? A quick glance down (four toes!) and his exposed midriff and calves confirmed it: this _thing_ made him significantly taller. Like, ludicrously, since now he had to _duck_ just to get through a doorway.

The stench of vomit made him gag as he stepped into the hallway. He covered his nose with his hand—his palm smelled like dust—and lowered himself onto the first step. His foot went wide and he slipped onto the stairs with a hard _whump_ and his hand flew out to catch one of the railing posts. The sharp _crrrrch!_ of snapping wood was deafening.

Shoulders hunched in nervous anticipation, Jim retracted his hand and stared mournfully at the two fractured halves of the post jutting out over the stairs at a weird angle. He made sure to be more cautious the rest of the way down. His legs were much longer and his steps reflected that change—he had to consciously direct his feet to their next destination. Finally, he stepped onto the ground floor and shambled into the kitchen.

And realized, with sudden urgency, that he was _starving._

Like a zombie, he homed in on the fridge and yanked the door open a little too hard, causing bottles to tip out of their shelves and shatter on the floor. The sound was like knives in his ears and he quickly covered them with his hands to try and stop the ringing. His nose was overwhelmed with the countless odors in the fridge and he lurched with a disgusted groan, slamming the door back into place and making the whole appliance shudder as it shifted.

His senses were on fire, and he pinched his nose to try and stop the burn. The combination of smells—spicy and sweet and acrid and _too strong, too much_ —just made him feel sick and he staggered into the wall before sliding to the floor with his hands fisted into his hair.

 _What_ was going _on?_

He needed to get away from there. Where too, he didn’t know. Something inside just screamed for him to _run away._ Jim clawed his way to his feet and clumsily hurried to the back door before ripping it open—

The entire goddamn door came off its hinges in his hand. He just shoved it aside and took off into the dark woods.

* * *

He’d never ran so fast in his life.

Jim wanted to think he was just desperate to distance himself from his home, his mom, the familiarity of his life, because he was terrified of what he’d become—but in his current vulnerable state of mind, he couldn’t hide the truth from himself.

It was just really, _really_ exhilarating running so fast.

This strange body was a force of its own. His longer legs granted him a greater stride and propelled him with a strength he’d never had. The longer he ran, the more he got a feel for his sense of balance. Weaving through the trees, tearing through brush and branches—not even his shoeless feet could slow him down; his skin was so tough he had no issue with the woods’ natural terrain.

He’d _done_ this before. He had no memory of it, but the _sensation_ was familiar—running through the woods, letting his mind go blank as his senses took over, leading him only God knew where. It suddenly made sense: waking up in town with no recollection of having fallen asleep. No wonder he’d been so sore in the morning—he’d already been through this once. He must have blacked out for the entire night.

But his body—his _new_ body—remembered.

Jim was merely an observer through his own eyes as his body guided him through the forest. Everything was brighter, clearer; shades of grays and blues, but perfectly discernable despite the dark. The wind was loud in his ears but he could still pick out the voices of the wilderness. The air, cool and crisp, even carried recognizable tastes as he drew in deep, heaving breaths.

His senses were stretched to a height he never imagined and it was like experiencing the world anew.

An itching need to _climb_ hummed under his skin and Jim didn’t hesitate before throwing himself up the next tree with a determined shout, arms and legs scrabbling for purchase. Which, he didn’t find. He cried out as he slid back down, desperately looking for _anything_ to stop his descent—

Instinct took over. His hand shot up and clawed into the trunk and his nails stuck fast into the bark, instantly catching him. He stared at his hand with wide eyes and panting breaths, at the claws that curled from his fingers like little knives.

He couldn’t help the nervous chuckle that bubbled from his lips.

Jim climbed the rest of the way with ease. He pulled himself onto a branch and studied his nails—at how long they were now. And sharp. He could flay a fish with his bare hands. The thought made him uneasy, but he couldn’t deny his fascination either.

Curiously, he stepped out and away from the trunk, feeling the branch dip the further he went. Despite the swaying limb and the dizzying height, he felt perfectly balanced. He didn’t know what compelled him to jump. He just did. And when he did, he went _far._ His feet landed soundly on the next tree and he eased into the landing like he’d been doing it all his life. With a manic grin, Jim hopped to the next, then ran and dropped to the next, and before he realized it, he was leaping through the trees almost as fast as he’d been running on the ground. His hands stretched for a high branch and he swung from it, aiming for the next one.

He overshot. Jim cried out as he slipped and smacked into the tree, his claws tearing uselessly at bark as gravity sent him crashing down through outstretched limbs. He hit the ground. Hard. Water splashed around him as he landed in a shallow puddle and he gasped as the air was knocked out of him. He lay there on his back, panting, trying to catch his breath.

Okay, that one hurt.

Sitting up, he shook his head and water droplets sprayed everywhere. Cursing under his breath, he pushed himself to his feet and brushed off the mud from his backside, swearing to himself he wasn’t going to do _that_ again. He rolled his smarting shoulder, lamenting the miry state of his clothes, and stepped out of the water, the soggy ground squishing beneath his feet.

The chorus of the trees whispered in his long ears, amplified through twitching swivels. _Ugh,_ he thought. Directional hearing. That would take some serious getting used to, along with everything else. He pinned his ears back against his head to stop the fluctuating noise and caught his reflection in the puddle’s rippling surface.

The image stared back. It was the same monster he’d seen in the mirror, but now it was wet and muddy and had torn its shirt to shreds from the trees. He looked like a feral animal. With a sigh, Jim shoved his hair out of his eyes. Not a single thing about him was recognizable. His face was different, his body was different . . .

Even his eyes weren’t quite the same. They were wild—fierce and electric.

Nothing like his own.

Jim grabbed his collar and tugged the soiled shirt over his head. It caught on his horns and tore in two. Whatever, it was already ruined. He tossed the pieces aside and stared at his reflection. He made a face—a snarl. It even looked half-hearted. He pulled his lip back and bared his fangs, then tried smiling, but it was awkward with the tusks. He tilted his head and felt along his jaw, fingers tracing over soft, dark fur that transitioned to thicker hair.

There were grooves in his skin along his chest and belly, arranged in strange patterns. He had some on his arms too, all the way down to his wrists, and he traced one with a finger. All over, there was muscle definition he didn’t normally possess, and he flexed, watching how his stiff skin yielded to movement. He was longer, broader. Turning around, he ran his fingers along a stiff crest of hair that ran from his head to halfway down his back.

He’d changed so much. Everything about him was different. _Everything._ He couldn’t bear to even entertain the thought that anyone he knew would recognize him.

With a sudden pang of grief, Jim kicked at his reflection in frustration and the sudden inhuman _growl_ that filtered through his teeth sent a shiver down his own spine. His image shattered, and he knelt, sitting on his haunches with his chin in his arms, chest tight, and fighting the urge to cry.

“What _am_ I?” he whispered hoarsely to no one but his own broken reflection. It only gazed back with the same pitiful expression.

He felt so, so alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, little update on what's happening in my life! i'm starting a new full-time job tomorrow and am committing this story to a weekly update basis from here on. i do still have a huge backlog of chapters but i want to keep that buffer now that my free time is much more limited. update days will be friday
> 
> i also want to express my gratitude for the amount of attention this story has gotten so far. aside from checking comments whenever i upload i otherwise haven't been paying attention because my week has been so hectic with hiring. i tell u what i was not expecting anywhere near the amount of love i've received so far and it put a really big smile on my face today. i started writing this purely out of affection for the characters of toa and that hasn't diminished in the slightest but you guys make the experience even more worthwhile :)


	5. One Thing at a Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim decides that learning the ropes might not be such a bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i know this chapter is like *checks calendar* five days overdue but i got a million excuses that i will list in the end notes :)
> 
> oh my god i forgot to eat lunch today LOL

Jim stared at his hands.

They were filthy from all the dried mud, and they shook because he was cold. His skin was fleshy and pale, except the tips of his fingers, which were chilled red. And, he had five of them. Five on each hand.

But his hands didn’t look like that ten minutes ago.

 _Nothing_ felt real. It didn’t matter what his eyes had believed, or how severe the pain had been, or how potent the fear had felt. It didn’t matter that he’d spent the entire night wandering aimlessly through the forest in a body that wasn’t his, confused out of his mind, desperate for an answer.

It didn’t matter because, in an instant, every horrible thing was just _gone._ The only thing convincing him that he wasn’t insane, and that it _was_ real and not some palpable nightmare, was the deep ache in his bones from when he changed back.

What. The _fuck._

Jim forced himself to exhale. It came out weak and shaky, much like the rest of him. He was freezing—shivering and on his knees in the morning-cold grass. All he had were his pajama pants and those were threatening to fall apart too. Finally, his eyes dropped from his hands and he fell onto his back to stare up at the looming trees over his head.

He simply focused on breathing. That hurt, too. _Everything_ hurt.

The dawn sky peeked through the leaves. He didn’t realize his hands were moving until he felt the shock of cold against his stomach. Numbly, his fingers dug into the soft flesh of his belly, feeling the skin give with ease. They skimmed over the flat surface of his chest and up the furless length of his neck. His hands reached his hair, where no horns of any kind obstructed them as they smoothed back along his skull. The next breath he released was tremulous and he didn’t notice the tear escaping until he felt the warmth slip over his skin. He wiped it away immediately—the last thing he wanted was to keep feeling so painfully sorry for himself. The entire night had been dedicated to that, and he was so tired of it.

And, strangely enough, not _tired_ at all. Physically, anyway. He was drained and sore, but that was because the reversion took a lot out of him. But tired? Hardly, despite not having slept once the previous night. Instead, he just felt restless. Incessantly so.

Jim pushed himself into a sitting position, groaning at the strain in his back. His spine had _not_ taken too well to being stretched like that. Again. He was forced to take a breather before attempting to stand, and his legs wobbled and nearly buckled under his own weight—it was only the support of a nearby tree that finally got him to his feet. His house was close, he knew that much. He hadn’t strayed far on purpose. Despite how scared he was of that _thing_ he’d become, he couldn’t bear running away. The only thing that’d held him together was knowing that home wasn’t too far.

The first step he took sent him to the ground. He landed facedown with a gasp, every aching muscle in his body screaming at him. If there was any substance left in his stomach, he would have thrown it all up right there—he was left spitting up thick saliva that left an iron tang in his mouth. Oh _god,_ he was so thirsty.

With shaking arms, he slowly eased himself up until he rested against the tree, eyes screwed tightly shut. He wiped at his mouth with a trembling arm. Okay, so walking home wasn’t an option right now—how did he do this _yesterday?—_ but he loathed the idea of just sitting around doing nothing. His hand jumped into his pocket and found the phone that was somehow still there.

When he pulled it out, he frowned with a deep sigh. There was a huge fracture running the length of the screen, probably from when he’d fallen on it while being a fucking rock goblin. But it still worked, and he quickly scrolled through his contacts—his thumb paused over his mom. At this hour, she was probably still at work. That meant she hadn’t noticed he was missing yet. Meant she was completely unaware of his experience as a living nightmare.

He was tempted, but . . . no. She couldn’t know. If he put that burden on her shoulders, he’d never forgive himself. It wasn’t like she’d be able to help him, anyway. And he couldn’t . . . he just _couldn’t_ stand the thought of her seeing him like that.

His thumb flicked up and he found Toby’s name instead. He tapped the screen before he lost his nerve and listened to the ringing on the other end, setting his head against the tree to try and calm his singing nerves.

The sound of Toby’s voice nearly made him jump out of his skin. _“Dude, ‘s too early. Wha’ d’you want?”_

The tired slurring was pretty indicative of the call having woken him. It nearly made Jim burst into tears all the same—hearing the dull, irritated, and _normal_ voice of his best friend was so much more painful than he predicted. A hand slapped over his mouth to stop the sob that threatened to escape.

_“You better say somethin’ or swear ‘m gonna hang up.”_

Jim took a deep, heaving breath. “T-Tobes, I—” was all he managed before he had to bite back the grief that threatened to spill. His voice sounded like he was choking on dust, and speaking was painful.

 _“Whoa, you good? You sound really sick,”_ Toby said, sounding a little more awake. Jim shook his head, biting on his knuckles and fighting with his own madness. God, what was he supposed to _say?_ Did he just come clean? Admit he was hanging out in the forest because he’d turned into some kind of stone Goliath and had a break down? Would Toby even _believe_ him?

Did he _want_ Toby to believe him? 

“I’m—yeah. Really sick. Worse than yesterday.”

_“You gonna make it to school today? Lemme know—I’ll make sure to get your work from your teachers.”_

His chest tightened. That was Toby—always having his back. “Y-yeah. I mean, uh. I don’t know. Something—something happened last night.”

There was a pause on the other end. _“Are you okay?”_

“I—” He hesitated for only a second before the events of the entire night came crashing down on him all at once and words poured out of his mouth before he could stop himself. “I-I had a really rough night, Tobes. At first it was normal, but then it was dark and it wasn’t, and there were horns a-and claws and _really_ big teeth, and it was a _monster_ , and . . . I ran away, man. I _ran,_ and now it’s gone but I’m lost and I don’t know what to do and I’m _so scared—"_

 _“Hey, hey! Jim,_ calm down! _You’re okay now, alright? Just. Take a deep breath.”_

Jim hadn’t realized how hard he was shaking until then. His breaths came in quick, heaving gasps and his eyes stung with tears that threatened to shed. Hearing his friend helped, though. It helped a lot more than he’d expected. Finally, after following Toby’s instruction, he managed to pull himself back together a little.

“Sorry,” he rasped. “I’m a little out of it right now. Didn’t mean to drop all that on you first thing in the morning.”

_“Dude, don’t sweat it! That’s what I’m here for.”_

Jim smiled to himself—only a hint of a smile, but he felt cared for all the same. Knowing someone was there was what he needed right now.

_“You feeling better?”_

“Yeah. I am, actually.”

_“Oh, okay, good. Great. You had me worried for a sec! Like, holy—I knew you’ve been having nightmares but I didn’t know they got this bad. Did you tell your mom about this stuff?_

Jim felt his relief bleed out of him, replaced by that crushing isolation that made him cold all over again. “Yeah. Nightmares. . .” he mumbled under his breath. “Uh, I’ve—she knows. She knows about the nightmares, but. I don’t know if I want to tell her about this.”

_“Why not?”_

_Cause she’ll lose her goddamn mind._ “She’ll want me to get counseling or . . . something.”

_“Well, I don’t know. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea.”_

Jim stared at the ground ahead of him, unseeing, as his mind kept flashing him memories of the previous night. He rubbed at his eyes, using all his willpower to force down the screaming urge to snap at Toby that _no, it wouldn’t fucking help._

_“You coming to school?”_

It took a long time for him to find his voice again. “No.”

_“Alright, your call. Oh, by the way, Claire was looking for you yesterday. She wanted to ask you something—I think about the school play? I don’t know, man, it’s too early. I’ll text you later when I remember.”_

Jim barely listened, not finding much in him to care. Everything felt so trivial after last night. Without looking, he hung up—his phone slid from his fingers and fell harmlessly to the ground. Then he dropped his face into his hands and sighed miserably.

He couldn’t tell Toby. There was _no way_ he could tell him. If _he’d_ reacted the way he had, how would _Toby_ react to seeing him turn into some sort of _monster?_ Would Toby be scared? Run away from him? Never talk to him again?

If Jim lost his best friend—if he lost _anyone else_ he loved, it’d tear him apart from the inside out, and he’d shatter into pieces.

And he didn’t think he could be put back together a second time.

A choked sob pushed past his lips and Jim slumped against the tree, a hand pressing tightly to his eyes. It didn’t stop the tears from escaping. The hot streaks against his skin was the only warmth he felt.

God _damn_ it _._ He was feeling sorry for himself all over again. Jim growled in frustration and pushed himself to his feet, careful not to move too quickly or risk eating dirt again. Wiping furiously at his eyes, he focused on moving his feet and managed to hobble away from the tree without falling. He was desperate to get home and clean up all his messes before his _mom_ questioned his mental health next. The last thing he needed was her on his case, too.

But he wasn’t sure he wanted to stick around for long. Home didn’t sit well with him, as badly as he wanted to curl up in his bed. He definitely wasn’t going to school—he wasn’t sure he could just . . . jump into _normalcy_ after all that and not lose his mind.

No. He needed time to think. Time to think and . . . plan? Prepare? He knew it would probably happen again. It happened twice now, and, the more he thought about it, at roughly the same time. When had it been? Dusk? He remembered the sun going down.

And, that morning, he’d changed back just as the sun was coming up.

So, his clock was the sun. Like, werewolf rules? Except without the moon, and every night instead of once a month, and that thing had _definitely_ not been a werewolf. Essentially nothing like a werewolf, and also way worse cause at least werewolves were cool. But now that he knew what was coming, maybe he could learn to manage it. Figure it out a little. At least until he found a way to make it stop.

A grim thought entered his head. What if it was permanent? What if he never experienced another normal night again? Jim eyed the scars on his arm—what the _hell_ was that thing that’d bitten him?

One thing at a time, he thought. And one thing he really needed was a shower.

* * *

What was most disturbing was how _good_ Jim felt once it was all over.

The transformation was just as painful as he remembered, and expecting it hadn’t helped make it any easier. Simply _waiting_ for the sun to set was somehow more torturous still, like waiting for a bomb’s timer to hit zero. But after his body made the transition, he was perfectly fine. _More_ than fine, actually. Any soreness that’d followed him all day was gone, and he felt fresh—renewed. Invigorated. _Dying_ to explore the world with eyes that made everything new.

The exact opposite of how he’d felt that morning.

He was hesitant to embrace that feeling. It felt like a betrayal to himself to admit he kind of _enjoyed_ it. Everything about his new body was alien, but as much fear as he had for the unknown, there was almost equal levels of excitement.

Some dark, curious part of his mind wondered, despite his reluctance, what _else_ he was capable of now.

The night air was cool, carrying the smell of incoming rain. And, oh, _god,_ he could smell _so much more_ than that. All he wanted to do was stick his nose everywhere and explore in a way he never could have imagined. The wilderness of Arcadia was suddenly so much more interesting now that he could sense, like, _everything_ so acutely.

Instinct dictated he run low to the ground, wary of being spotted, and he was reluctant to venture near the limits of town, feeling most comfortable hidden within the trees. His nose—so sensitive now it was near blinding—was his guide, leading him to points of interest he never would have noticed otherwise. The occasional musky scent of living creatures nearly sent him into a frenzy and he had to _fight_ the urge to charge after every single rodent he came across.

It made him realize how devastatingly hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten properly in two days due to feeling ill, and it was catching up to him all at once now that he was adapting to his new heightened senses. As badly as he wanted to eat, he refused to give into the urge to sink his teeth into something breathing. The thought disturbed him as much as it disgusted him. But the desire was still there, itching under his skin.

He was in control, he told himself. _He_ was in control. If he was going to be stuck like this, then he would choose to not be a monster. He would _not_ be what had been in the canals. The urges were strong, and it scared him how invasive they were, but his mind was clear. He would not give in to such feral nature, no matter how badly he yearned for it.

Jim forced himself to ignore his hunger and pressed on, eager to occupy his mind. The monotony of the forest was starting to wear on him, though. There were only so many trees he could poke around before getting bored, and even the novelty of his enhanced sense of smell was quickly wearing off.

Until it brought him to a campsite. Abandoned by the looks of it, as Jim ambled through the clearing while gazing at scattered supplies, overturned cookware, and a half-pitched tent. A small pond was just beyond the hill, connected by a thin stream that ran by Arcadia.

Odd for someone to just leave behind an entire camping kit. And fully stocked, too. Jim picked up a pot—stainless steel caked with mud. He wiped off the dirt and squinted at his murky reflection. Who would just leave this all behind? The place even _smelled_ old, as most of the scents were either faint or very stale. It made something prickle at the back of his mind; reports of people disappearing around Arcadia. He tried to recall anything about missing campers, but drew a blank.

Arcadia had a history of missing persons. It’d been happening for decades, maybe longer. The local rumors liked to paint the forest as a den of evil and magic that swallowed up unsuspecting hikers, but none were wilder than those of fellow classmate Eli Pepperjack, whose theories ranged from dragons to aliens. There’s an alarming constant, he liked to say; those who disappear never leave a trace to follow.

But those were just stories told around campfires to scare friends. People got lost in the woods all the time. It wasn’t a big deal. Maybe these campers just never got around to coming back to clean up.

Jim dropped the pot and rifled through the supplies, kicking aside crushed bottles, inspecting discarded tools. The various smells wafting from the objects were setting his stomach off—he pressed a hand to his belly as he felt it grumble painfully. He sniffed around and was drawn to the metallic scent of aluminum. He picked up an empty beer can and put it up to his nose. Immediately, his stomach responded and he began salivating.

God, was he _seriously_ considering putting this thing in his mouth? His stomach was screaming _yes, food_ but he still couldn’t help but grimace at how his body betrayed him. He wasn’t sure if he found this worse than eating something alive or not.

Well, it wasn’t like anyone was around to watch . . .

Jim gently bit into the side of the can and his teeth shredded through the foil as easily as biting into an apple. The flavor was shockingly pleasant and he practically inhaled the rest, his mouth so tough that any sharp edges were harmless as he chewed. It didn’t take long for him to devour whatever item he could get his hands on—metal, plastic, paper. Anything, really.

And it was _so good._

How weird that after every monstrous alteration, _this_ would be what could fill his stomach. Honestly, he’d expected something that made him a bit more—he guessed, _monstrous?_ Perhaps of the man-eating variety? That thing in the canals had tried to eat _him,_ after all.

Mostly, he just felt relieved to have such a harmless appetite.

Something crunched under his foot and he paused mid-chew of the electric lantern’s bulb. Looking down, he found himself face-to-face with his own fractured image reflected in the shards of a small shattered mirror. It dragged him out of his ravenous state like a splash of cold water as he was forced to remember himself.

Jim swallowed thickly and sighed. The desperate hunger was gone, leaving him with the craving for answers all over again. All day, he’d contemplated, and nothing was any clearer. Not even an internet search had gotten him any closer—not that he’d expected much. He was truly alone with this problem, and he didn’t know what to do, or where to go.

Would he spend the rest of his life hiding?

Something on the glass caught his eye. With a frown, Jim dropped onto his haunches and set aside the remaining half of the lantern as he looked closer. Small faded specks dotted the mirror, staining the surface. Mud was his first thought—maybe from rain wetting the ground? But the color seemed off. Curiously, he picked up a shard and sniffed it, and the vague scent of human registered, as well as the sour tang of iron.

And there was something else, he realized, and it lingered all around the camp. It was extremely faint, easy to miss—much like the human smells, because they were old, except this _wasn’t_ human. Curiously, his eyes roamed and his brain began connecting dots as he noticed things his hunger had blinded him to before.

There were countless lesions in the dirt, as if something sharp had torn at the earth. Nearby, huge gashes in the trees. The tent frame was mangled, and the canvas, spattered with dark stains, was in shreds on one side. And the more Jim looked, the more obvious the context became, because even though there was nothing solid left behind to identify, there was _plenty_ of evidence to piece together what happened.

Jim jumped to his feet and quickly backpedaled, feeling his panic rise and choke him all over again as he scrambled to _get away, run away._ His back slammed into a tree and he released a harsh sound of shock that sounded so like a wounded animal it made him flinch hard enough to lose his balance.

He landed in the dirt and thrashed to right himself, his fear making him clumsy. His hand landed in a hole and he glanced over and froze, because he realized the hole was a massive _footprint_ dug deep into the mud, several times the diameter of his hand.

Memories of black claws and thundering roars and blazing eyes flashed through his head and suddenly the forest was a blur. Jim ran so fast he was nearly blind, charging through branches and shrubbery like they weren’t even there, his legs on auto-pilot with no clue where he was going, just knowing he needed to put as much distance as possible between himself and wherever the _hell_ he’d just been.

Suddenly the ground was no longer under his feet. Jim cried out as he plummeted, the steep slope rising to catch up at such a dizzying speed it snatched his legs and sent him tumbling the rest of the way down. Lights streaked in his vision. Something splintered loudly as he crashed into it, throwing him to the ground and leaving him splayed out, gasping for air. He stared at the stars, reeling.

Once the spinning stopped, the first thing he noticed was he couldn’t see as many through the glowing blanket of light pollution. Slowly, he eased up onto his elbows and realized he was also laying in someone’s lawn. Wood splinters were scattered everywhere and he was covered in them—that’s when he saw the gaping hole next to him in the privacy fence.

Oops.

Something growled and instantly Jim was upright, low to the ground on hands and feet, bristling. A small dog cowered near the dark house, mirroring his posture. Its ears were flat and its tail was lowered, and a second later it flashed its teeth in warning.

Still high from his flight, Jim curled his lip and answered with a vicious snarl before he could stop himself. The dog immediately shuffled away and curled up in a corner, eyeing him nervously. Jim flinched as the porch light flipped on and he quickly threw himself back into the shadows before the owner opened the door.

Okay. He was definitely in Arcadia. One of the outermost neighborhoods, as far as he could tell. The streets were mostly dark, save for the occasional street lamp, but most houses were still alive with activity since it wasn’t that late yet. Jim brushed away the remaining wood fragments from his clothes as he walked just within the tree line, displeased to find them already earning holes. Sure, they were meant to be throwaways for this specific purpose, but he didn’t have many shirts big enough to fit him like this. Plus, he liked the sweatpants.

Otherwise he felt fine. The fall hadn’t hurt. Crashing through a fence hadn’t either. In fact, there was hardly a scratch on his skin. Mostly it’d just rattled him. That was . . . kind of amazing, if he were being honest.

He didn’t feel like venturing into the trees again. It made him sick to his stomach to think that all those disappearances could be caused by that monster, or others like it. That could have been him, he thought. Devoured, with nothing left behind except another statistic and another scary story to tell.

What if he wasn’t alone, though? He glanced at the scars on his arm. He’d gotten away—not unscathed, but he’d escaped. Could that mean others did too? And if they did, were they like _him?_ And if that were the case, where did they go? Did they just live normal lives during the day and deal with the consequences at night?

Or did it wear off eventually, like an illness that went away on its own? None of these questions could be answered by himself. It was frustrating. But maybe if he found one of those _things . . ._ he could get closer to figuring this out.

That meant accepting the possibility of meeting that horrible creature that did this to him. Face to face. He licked his lips anxiously as he gazed at the lights of Arcadia.

A good place to start would probably be the canals.

Rain began to fall in light drizzles. Jim glanced at the overcast sky. Everything was muted gray-blues in his eyes from the lack of moonlight. The town was cast in deep shadow. The rain would create further obscurity.

He was still hesitant, though. The risk of being spotted weighed on his mind, but . . . the night was especially dark. His skin, being the deep blue that it was, melted into shadow, and despite his bigger size, he moved with a naturally silent grace. He had to trust that the night would keep him hidden.

It turned out to be the best idea he’d had all day.

Arcadia was just a new jungle for him to experiment with. There was a wild grin on his face as he vaulted up buildings and over rooftops—his claws were perfect for the many cracks and niches in walls and his legs easily carried him over the widest gaps. His attention kept getting snagged by every new smell he came across, which was constantly, and at one point became so enraptured by his own euphoria that he didn’t think twice about chasing after a stray cat he found hiding from the rain.

It quickly evaded him and he stopped, snapping back to his senses, and straightened before clearing his throat. Okay, that was a little embarrassing. Staying in control was a lot harder than he thought. Also, now he felt kind of bad for the cat.

But he felt _so_ alive. Unstoppable, even. He’d dwelled over the cons of his new body but discovering the pros was an adventure all on its own. His physical potential was extraordinary and finding his limits seemed impossible. The thrill was addicting—heart racing, nerves singing, blood roaring in his ears along with the wind as he landed on another roof. He may have been soaking wet, but the rain did nothing to slow him down.

Jim took a moment to breathe as he gazed across the street, stretching his arms over his head. Arcadia Oaks High was dark with inactivity—or, most of it, anyway. There were lights on near the auditorium and, as he watched, some students milling in and out of its doors. Huh, he thought, wonder what’s going on in there?

A part of him was saying _bad idea_ but the louder part of him was just curious. Sticking to the shadows, Jim bounded across the street and over the lawn. The students mostly lingered near the lights, but some loitered by the lockers where overhangs sheltered from the rain. Thankfully, they didn’t stick around for long, and Jim padded through the dark once their backs were turned.

He watched them leave, his sensitive ears picking up their conversation even as they rounded the corner. They were talking about . . . monologues? He had no idea how that could be related to school.

A poster caught his eye. Oh, right—the fall play. Auditions were running the entire week, according to the dates displayed. Had they always run this late? Not that he’d ever paid any attention to plays in the past.

Shit, didn’t Toby say something about Claire and the play this morning? Now he wondered what she’d wanted to ask.

“. . . know this is a tragedy, right? Not a romance.”

Her voice made searing hot _panic_ blaze through Jim’s veins and he launched himself on top of the lockers like a startled cat—and, despite his surprise, landed like one too. He pressed his body as flat as he could against the wall and screwed his eyes shut.

“Uh, what’s more romantic than a husband and wife getting a whole kingdom?” came Steve’s voice. Ugh. _Steve?_ If this was auditions, what the hell was someone like _that_ doing here?

“You’re right. Nothing’s more romantic than madness and regicide,” Claire said dryly. Jim’s heart was beating so loudly he was shocked they couldn’t hear it as they passed him. He opened his eyes—she looked so much smaller now. Steve did too, actually, and Jim was pretty pleased with that.

“Did you even read the script, wingnut?” Mary asked, equally as dry.

“Uh, _yeah._ I . . . skimmed the first couple pages—”

They disappeared into the school and Jim exhaled sharply, not realizing he’d been holding his breath. Holy shit, that was _close._ He’d been so engrossed in his thoughts he hadn’t heard them until it was almost too late.

 _Stay focused, Lake—you’re in unwelcome territory._ One wrong move, and he’d be a cryptid sighting in the morning paper.

Jim moved to climb off the lockers. His phone suddenly rang and he jerked and lost his grip before smacking into the floor. With an irritated groan, he rolled onto his back and quickly muted the device after pulling it out. He sighed at the caller ID.

It was his mother.

Really? _Right_ now?

“Hey, Mom,” Jim answered casually as he rolled to his feet.

 _“Jim,_ where _are you?”_

Oh, god. She sounded frantic. That wasn’t good. “I’m just—just at the school, Mom.”

_“Still?”_

Jim glanced at the overhang. It wasn’t that high. “Yeah, there’s a . . . the fall play auditions are this week and they go pretty late.”

He jumped and grabbed the edge with his free hand then used his legs to swing the rest of the way up. His mother sighed on the other end, sounding relieved. _“Were you planning on telling me at any point? You know, I haven’t seen you since yesterday and I was getting worried.”_

“Sorry. Kind of slipped my mind.” Silently, he vaulted onto the roof. No one would see or hear him up there. Unfortunately for him, the rain made it harder for him to hear his mother and he had to stick a finger in his ear to block out the noise.

_“Since when are you interested in school plays?”_

“I’m not. But, uh, Claire’s always in them, though. Toby and I tagged along to check it out.”

_“Toby’s there?”_

“Yeah, he’s hanging around somewhere.”

_“Did you walk? His bike’s in his yard.”_

Jim mouthed a series of curse words and made frustrated gestures with his hand. “Well, Claire—she’s got a car. And she gave us a ride. Probably won’t be back till later.”

_“What’s wrong with your voice? Are you still sick?”_

“I’m fine! Mom, I’m fine. I promise.” Jim hopped onto the next roof tier. “Scratchy throat, that’s all. I feel fine.”

All of these interrogative questions were actually a blessing. It meant she hadn’t noticed all the damage in the house. He’d done his best to clean up when he’d gotten home, but . . . there was only so much he could do about a hole in the door.

_“Alright, I believe you. Just please text me next time you decide to stay out late so I don’t think you got kidnapped? I doubt you want your face on those milk cartons."_

Ha. How close to a reality that had been. “Okay, I’m sorry for worrying you. Can I go?”

_“One more thing. Why is there a hole in the bathroom door?”_

Oh my _god._ “That’s actually a _really_ funny story, Mom! But I’m a little busy right now so I’ll have to tell you at home. Got to go!”

He hung up. Oh, she would not be happy with him for that. Whatever—better she be angry than worried. He should have expected that, honestly. It’d been painful dodging her all day, but he could have at least left a note or something to put her mind at ease. He just . . . hadn’t known what to say.

Jim pocketed his phone and sat on the edge of the roof, his feet dangling. The auditorium was below him and he watched students mill through the doors periodically. A little further, out in the parking lot, he could see Claire talking animatedly with Mary, both huddled beneath a shared umbrella. Mary was pointing to something on her phone and Claire was laughing, her bright smile visible even from a distance. Steve was nowhere to be found.

What had he been doing again? Something about the canals, but he was in no hurry to leave. The rain didn’t bother him. In fact, he welcomed the chill—it felt refreshing, and his skin barely registered the cold. Even in his current state, everything felt serene, and he was content to merely watch and listen as theatre enthusiasts leisurely milled around, talking about subjects beyond him.

Wow, did he _miss_ the utterly mundane.

Most of the students traveled in pairs or small groups of friends as they conversed amongst themselves. That’s how he noticed the single lone figure near the street, silhouetted in the dark, and standing completely still. Jim shifted to his feet and straightened, squinting against the rain.

This figure was really, _really_ tall.

Two glowing points gleamed unnervingly in the dark. They were a radiant yellow, like molten gold, and they shone like a pair of small beacons set against a canvas of black. The figure was mostly formless—the top half hidden by a cloak that fluttered in the breeze—but long legs extended to the ground.

This wasn’t what had attacked him. The creature he remembered had been huge and bulky. The description didn’t fit here, but that still didn’t convince him that it belonged in Arcadia.

So, what _was_ it?

Jim realized the glowing points—which must be eyes—were staring in the direction of Claire and Mary. He tensed, but _not_ with fear, and felt the beginnings of a growl crawl up his throat.

Maybe it felt him watching. Maybe it’d known he was there the whole time. Either way, Jim felt startled when those eyes suddenly turned his way and landed directly on him, making his hackles raise. He bared his teeth on instinct, though he dared make no noise. Instead, he held its gaze, unblinking and unmoving.

And then it turned and drifted, unhurried, away from the school.

Jim was already running. He threw himself from the roof and landed on the next, then dropped to the grass and pursued silently, keeping low to stay hidden from the wandering students. Then he crossed the street and followed.

It was always just out of his sight. He tried to keep pace but it was surprisingly elusive, managing to weave through buildings and around corners so that Jim would only see a fraction of whatever he was chasing before it disappeared. The rain masked any scent it might be giving off, leaving him totally blind to what he was following. It was as frustrating as it was nerve-wracking.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he caught up.

And then, surprisingly, he _did._ Jim dashed onto the sidewalk and stopped dead as his heart skipped. It stood across the street, still as a statue, and staring at him with its chilling gaze. It made no indication to move. This _thing’s_ stare was like being submerged in ice, and Jim felt an uncomfortable shiver inch down his spine, like a frozen finger tracing over each vertebra. Any previous curiosity vanished instantly, and all that remained was doubt and the cold grip of fear.

And fierce resolve. _A threat_ —that’s what his instincts were telling him. This thing was a _threat._ It’d been lingering like a phantom near his school, invading one of his sanctuaries and imposing on those he cared about. And it just wouldn’t. Stop. _Watching him,_ as if daring he do something about it, and that made him so _angry._

Like hell he was going to let another monster terrorize his home.

He charged into the street. The creature still didn’t move, and Jim didn’t notice the approaching headlights until it was too late—the truck slammed into him and he was thrown into the air like a ragdoll before hitting the asphalt with a sharp _crack!_

He lay there, dazed, as rain tickled his face, puzzled over what just happened. He heard the clicking of a car door opening and the sound of a shoe stepping onto the street. Jim sat upright and shielded his eyes from the light, barely making out the silhouette of a man standing beside the vehicle that’d just ran him over. Wow, he really did a number on that truck’s hood—there was an impressive Jim-sized dent on one side. The driver, on the other hand, finally seemed to realize he was looking at something not quite human and jumped back in with a nervous whimper, disregarding the damage to his vehicle as he quickly threw it in reverse and sped off in the direction he came from.

Well, that was a thing that occurred. Jim shook his head and stood, brushing off the black smudges of asphalt from his arms. Then he paused and stared in wonder, realization slowly dawning as his eyes scanned unbroken skin.

That hadn’t hurt at all. He was a goddamn _tank._

Jim chuckled smugly in the direction the truck had drove, not quite sorry for the damage he’d caused. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be worried someone had seen him. What was that guy gonna say, anyway? That he hit a demon in sweatpants on the drive home? That’d be a fun story to tell right before being committed.

But now that strange creature was gone. Jim strained his ears but there wasn’t a single sound beyond the rain and his own beating heart. With a defeated sigh, he slowly ambled the rest of the way across the street, passing where the creature had been standing before. He ended up at the canals—he recognized the shape of the bridge in the distance.

What he didn’t see were any shadowy figures, monstrous or otherwise. Save for the thin layer of water that streamed along its floor from the rain, the canals were silent and empty, as they always were.

Except, of course, that _one_ time.

What the hell were these things? And more importantly, _where_ were they coming from, and _why?_ The creature that attacked him in the canals had seemed like little more than a mindless beast lusting for blood, but _this_ one had been cold and calculating. There’d been intelligence in its icy gaze.

Then again, he’d heard them speak before, which meant they might _all_ be intelligent.

And that possibility was so much more terrifying than the monsters he'd drawn in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay rant time so for starters i did not like this chapter at all at any point in time. didn't really know what i wanted to do with it originally so i just threw some shit in word and moved on because i needed some sort of transition from 4 to 6, but when i got around to editing it i thought "hmm this sucks" and more or less rewrote 80% of it (even added about 3k more words let's go). the funny thing is i actually started revisions last wednesday, so i'm thinking yeah i got time but LOL i've been so miserable because, in addition to working nine hour days, my allergies have been fucking draining me. so i didn't finish the new draft until sunday night. then i planned on uploading yesterday after work but i ended up being too busy, and by the time i got a chance, it was already really late and i needed to get to sleep (i start work at 6am). SO i just got off work and finally have the opportunity to yeet this fucker out of my drafts
> 
> i don't regret it either. this chapter was seriously boring as hell until i sat down and tore it apart and now i'm much happier. so since i made such drastic changes to this chapter i'll have to compensate in the next, which means more big edits. it won't be as bad though just mostly some scene tweaking. i'm not confident it'll be done by friday so here's my new plan: as far as uploading goes, i want to aim for fridays, but if i can't for whatever reason then my plan b is to at least have something up by the end of the weekend. so expect sunday at the latest
> 
> thank u and have a good day :)


	6. The Perks of Chronic Monstrosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He might be a freak now, but that doesn't mean he can't have a little fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was really fun to write. original word count was like barely 4k but i managed to squeeze in 3.5k more this week lmao. it's somehow now the longest chapter i have written so far and that probably won't last long at this rate
> 
> actually finished revising last night but i needed time for my eyes to Rest before doing final edits. happy sunday

“Well, well! Look who’s back from the dead!”

Jim jerked out of his thoughts so hard he nearly tripped over his own feet. Being back at school had him extremely on edge and the swarming crowds of chatting students were making his skin crawl. He couldn’t help how stressed he felt—though no one paid him any attention, there was still that nagging dread that any of them could take one look at him and see right through his façade.

So, he was brutally startled when Toby suddenly called out to him, sounding far too loud to his ears. “Oh my god. You scared the hell out of me,” Jim exhaled, a hand pressed over his pounding heart.

“Oh, sorry. Forgot you were in solitary confinement for like, ever,” Toby shrugged. He leaned against the lockers, waiting for Jim to open his own. “But wow, you’re late. Thought you weren’t coming today. Shoulda been here yesterday, I tell you what—Eli was going nuts about seeing monsters around town again.”

Jim flinched and swung his locker open way harder than intended, making it slap its neighbor with a _bang!_ Tensely, he reached in to grab—wait, what period was it? “I _had_ to get out of the house. I’m lucky to be here at all,” he grumbled, ignoring the part about Eli.

“Lucky? Who calls themselves _lucky_ to be in school? Your brain fried from staying home or something?”

“No, you don’t understand. I was going to lose my mind if I had to sit at home for one more day. My mom has been holding me hostage because she thought I was really sick, and she’s not letting me negotiate. She doesn’t even know I’m here.”

“I thought you _were_ sick.”

“Y-Yeah, I was— _am._ Was. Was sick. I _was_ sick. Where’s your backpack?”

Toby eyed him with a frown. “It’s gym, dude.”

Jim blinked. “Oh.” With a shrug he shoved his entire bag into his locker and slammed it shut. “What time is it?”

“. . .like, almost eleven? You know, gym class time?”

Oh, wow. It was way later than he thought it’d be. He kind of missed having his bike. Shaking his head, he turned and headed in the direction of the gymnasium, Toby scrambling to keep up with his sudden departure.

“You tell your mom about the, y’know . . . nightmares?” Toby asked casually.

“She knows about the nightmares—I already told you.”

“I know that, but did you tell her about the really _bad_ one? In case she thinks you need to see a shrink or something. You haven’t had any like that since, have you?”

Jim stiffened as he walked. “Toby, it was a _bear._ I do not need psychiatric help over a bear.”

“Yeah, a bear that almost _killed you._ I’d be pretty freaked out too.” There was a pause. “Uh, where’s your cast?”

“Got it taken off. See? I’m fixed! Wasn’t that bad after all. Can we drop this?”

“Dude, slow down! Who rushes to gym class?!” Toby scurried in front of him to block his path, forcing him to stop. Jim pursed his lips, annoyed, but waited for the other boy to catch his breath. “Seriously, what’s your deal? Why are you so jumpy?”

“Jumpy.”

“Yeah, you’re kind of all over the place right now, man.”

“We’re gonna be late.”

“It’s still five minutes till class. You’re acting weird.”

Jim’s eyes widened a fraction, and over the sound of blood rushing in his ears he realized that Toby was probably right. But it was impossible to pretend like everything was the same as usual and walking around with such a heavy secret was making him jittery. That, and everything just sounded so _loud_ and he felt really overwhelmed—not to mention the excessive amount of energy pounding through his veins.

He was starting to think there was a little bit of overlap with the monster side of him and _god it sucked._

Forcing himself to take a steadying breath, Jim replied, “I guess I’m just a little stir-crazy after being stuck in the house for so long.”

That was only half true. His mom keeping him in bed _had_ drove him crazy, since he was constantly plagued by this unbearable restlessness during the day. As soon as it was night, though, he was out the door the instant her back was turned.

“Well, just take it easy! You’re free now, yeah? Relax.”

Jim nodded, his heart still beating a little too fast. He crossed his arms to stop the shaking in his hands, but he just ended up tapping his fingers instead. “So, what did Claire want to ask me?”

“Huh?”

“You told me on Tuesday she wanted to ask me something.”

“Man, am I supposed to remember? That was _days_ ago.” Toby peeked over his shoulder and bit back a smile. “But you can ask her yourself.”

Toby suddenly grabbed Jim by the shoulders and spun him around before shoving him forward. He nearly stumbled straight into Claire and her friends but his quick feet saved him—now he found himself face-to-face with her.

“Uh, hi,” he smiled awkwardly, vowing to kill Toby later. “Sorry, I kinda . . . tripped.”

Her eyebrow cocked but she seemed pleased to see him regardless. Mary and Darci, on the other hand, were too occupied by their phones to pay him any attention. “You’re finally back. I was starting to think you dropped out—and honestly, I felt jealous.”

Jim chuckled nervously, his teeth clenched a little too tight. All he could think about was that creepy tall creature that’d been skulking near the school grounds watching her. Since that night, he’d returned to the school and stood guard on the roof, keeping a vigilant eye for any signs of it until auditions ended. It hadn’t returned, but just _knowing_ it was somewhere out there was enough to make him itch. “Yeah, I’ve been a little sick. Kind of a boring week for me.”

“And you got your cast off? That was fast.”

“I know, right? Surprised me too.” The conversation was making him prickly and he quickly changed the subject. “Uh, so. You doing the fall play? I mean, I know you’re usually in the plays. I was just wondering, I guess.”

“Yeah—well, not _yeah,_ yeah. I’ve been helping Ms. Janeth run auditions all week but I haven’t actually auditioned yet. I’m scheduled for tonight, so. Fingers crossed.”

“I’m sure you’ll be amazing,” he said before he could stop himself. Well, if he hadn’t been feeling anxious before, he definitely was now.

Claire blinked at him and bit her lip to hold back a delighted smile. She brushed her hair behind her ear and cleared her throat. “I actually wanted to ask you something. Tonight’s the last night for auditions and we always have a shortage of boys for the male roles, so I was wondering if you wanted to come tonight?”

Jim raised his eyebrows, surprised, because he hadn’t known what to expect, but it hadn’t been _that._ He’d certainly never been one for acting, nor really ever given the prospect any consideration.

But hell, he’d try _anything_ once for her.

Then his smile froze on his face because he remembered something kind of important. The auditions ran way past sunset, meaning if he agreed, then best case scenario he’d have to flake and just seem like a jerk. Worst case scenario: he’d set the bar for the costume budget impossibly high.

And probably get the National Guard called on him. Oh god, what if _Claire_ saw him like that?

Her saying his name snapped him out of his thoughts and he shook his head. “Oh—sorry. It sounds like fun and I’d love to, really, but I’ve got too much going on tonight. I’m sorry.”

He swore he saw the light in her eyes dim a little. She shrugged. “Okay. Worth a shot. I guess the timing was really bad for you, anyway.”

“Maybe spring,” he offered, and she gave small nod.

Mary suddenly stepped in, her eyes still on her phone. “C’mon, Claire. We’re gonna be late.”

Claire waved at him. “I’ll see you in class.” He moved aside to let her through and he watched her friends guide her away. Toby was no longer around—likely having also felt the approaching bell and rushed to class to avoid getting on Coach Lawrence’s radar.

The pit in his stomach was almost painful. He was seventeen—a senior in high school, and as much as he hated humoring Toby’s stupid aspirations to be recognized figures in the halls of Arcadia Oaks High . . . that didn’t mean he wanted to forfeit every single social opportunity available after the sun went down. The night life was what his peers thrived on.

And that was taken from him so quickly.

Mr. Strickler was suddenly standing before him and Jim nearly jumped out of his skin. “Jim. My apologies—I didn’t mean to startle you. I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

Jim sighed, his nerves singing. Why did everyone need to talk to him _right now?_ “Yeah, I’m kind of winging today. It’s been a rough week.”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine now. Been sick, so my mom’s had me locked down since Monday.”

“But what about at this moment? You appear quite anxious.”

Jim realized he was bouncing on his feet and quickly stopped. Absently, he scratched at the scars beneath his sleeve. “Just feels weird being out of the house after a week.”

The man nodded in understanding, though he didn’t seem totally convinced. His eyes flicked down, “You’ve removed the cast. That’s quite a recovery.”

“My mom’s a good doctor.”

“And I would have to agree. Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better, and it’s good to see you could make it for some of your classes today. I won’t keep you any longer.”

“Uh, thanks. I’ll see you Monday,” Jim nodded before stepping around the teacher for the auditorium.

“Jim.”

Jim paused, throwing a curious glance over his shoulder. Mr. Strickler was watching him with soft eyes.

“If you find yourself feeling troubled, or you ever need to talk about anything—and I mean _anything—_ my office is always open.”

The final bell for class rang, and Jim barely heard it. For the first time since his nightly transformations began, he felt just a little more relaxed. It made him smile. “Thank you, Mr. Strickler.”

His gratitude was genuine. His intentions were not. Some things simply could not be discussed, no matter how badly he wanted to.

Everyone was already changed into their gym clothes by the time he arrived, barreling through the door in a rush. The sound of his shoes squeaking caught the attention of everyone, including Coach Lawrence.

“Kid, good to see you back,” came his booming voice from across the court. The echoes in the room made Jim grimace. “You joining us today?”

Oh, god. He forgot Eli was in his gym class, too. If anyone could magically sleuth him out, it’d be that guy. Eyeing the kid nervously, Jim gave a shaky nod. “That’s the plan, Coach,” he mumbled.

Toby was waiting for him by the bleachers. Jim, now sporting his gym wear, jogged up to meet him. Never before had he looked forward to gym class so much—if he didn’t shed some of this energy soon, he was going to implode. “Woah, dude, those are definitely teeth marks. So, what’d Claire want?” Toby said as soon as Jim was close enough.

Jim instinctively pulled his arm tighter against his side. Having his scars on full display for the entire gymnasium was making him uncomfortable. “She wanted to know if I’d audition for the play.”

“Ha! No way! You said yes, right?”

“No, I didn’t say _yes._ I snuck out of the house today—you think my mom’s going to let me leave ever again?”

“I don’t get what the big deal is. You seem totally fine to me.”

Jim opened his mouth to speak but paused, wondering if he should bother sharing this piece of info after all. After a brief moment, he sighed. “My mom thinks I might be sleepwalking.”

“What? She’s like, never home that late—how would she know that?”

“I, uh. Might have put a hole in the bathroom door.”

Toby gaped at him. Then he laughed. “How bad? Are we talking a little dent or is there like a big obvious depression or something?”

“Like you can see through to the other side. As in the whole door needs replaced.”

“What? _How_ did you manage that in your sleep?”

“I wasn’t _sleeping,_ I was—” Jim pursed his lips and wracked his brain for believable alternatives. “I was carrying some heavy stuff up the stairs, tripped at the top, fell, and broke the door. That’s really all there was to it.”

“Okay, first of all, congratulations for managing to do one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard. So, if that’s all it was, why would your mom think you’re sleepwalking?”

“I . . . might have told her I don’t remember doing it. I mean, _how_ am I supposed to explain that?”

Toby cackled. “Ooh, you _lied?_ Way to dig a deeper hole for yourself. Keep it up and she’s gonna start sedating you or something.”

At this point, Jim wasn’t willing it put it past her. She’d been very vocal about her concern for his mental health following his accident, and now it was even worse with the nightmares and his supposed sleepwalking episodes (he kind of shot himself in the foot with that one). More than anything, he wanted to show her how misplaced her worries were.

But, that would, of course, make things infinitely more terrible.

 _“Domzalski!_ Quit standing around and get moving!” barked Coach Lawrence all of a sudden, shocking both Jim _and_ Toby. He glared at a nervous Toby a moment longer before pulling out his clipboard and clicking his pen. “Lake, you’re on the rope today.”

Toby gasped in outrage. “What?! Coach, he _just_ got out of the cast!”

“Toby, I’m fine—”

“Everyone’s gotta take the assessment and he missed it last week,” the coach said. “If you want to wait till next week, kid, that’s fine, but—”

“I’ll do it now.”

Toby gaped at him. Coach Lawrence had a similar expression on his face. “Wh—you don’t want to warm up, first, kid? Or like, stretch a little?”

Jim was too eager to answer, quickly approaching the rope. He didn’t even wait for the go ahead before leaping onto it and dragging himself up, one hand at a time. He wasn’t nearly as strong as he was at night, but there was still something there that normally wasn’t—something hungry and powerful humming under his skin. It made the ache in his arms distant and numb to the burn in his lungs.

The ringing of the bell was piercing and punched him out of his trance so suddenly he nearly slipped. He hung at a dizzying height, his palms stinging from the harsh fibers of the rope, and he noticed every single student staring up at him. He hadn’t even realized he was at the top already. A surprised laugh bubbled past his lips and he smirked down at all the stunned expressions.

“Th-that’s a—you just set a new record, kid!” the coach stammered from where he stood at the foot of the rope, amazed in a way Jim had never seen him before. “I don’t think I’ve _ever_ seen anyone climb the rope that fast. That bear give you super powers or something?”

“Something like that,” Jim smiled wryly after sliding down and stepping onto the safety mat. “So, did I pass?”

The coach stared at him a moment before throwing his head back in howling laughter. He waved his hands around at the other students, “Alright, show’s over, kiddies. It’s open gym, so find something to do or I’ll find something for you.”

Toby walked over to him, reverence in his eyes. “Dude, I want whatever you’re having.”

“I’m not having _anything._ Just feeling really pumped.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone pacify Coach Lawrence before, so I don’t know what kind of fucking wizardry you’re pulling, but I want in. Maybe _I_ should go find a bear.”

Jim rolled his eyes before picking up a basketball. “Come on—play defense.”

Toby frowned uncertainly but did his best anyway. They played back and forth—well for the most part, Jim played, and Toby tried to keep up but quickly fell behind as Jim’s high energy propelled him out of reach for another easy basket.

The throw was clean and it dropped through the hoop like a dream.

“Okay, you don’t have to rub it in,” Toby panted behind him. Jim was grinning ear to ear as he retrieved the ball.

He must be adjusting. There were some aches here and there in the morning, but for the most part, he just felt really wired—and he was noticing things he hadn’t before. His reactions felt faster, his body felt lighter, his feet were far more graceful.

But everything was still just a _little_ too loud. The squeaking of shoes was grating on his nerves.

“Come on, Tobes! Don’t putter out on me just yet!”

“Ugh. It’s already hard keeping up with everyone else but now I have to keep up with you too?” Toby groaned as Jim returned with the ball in hand. Jim glanced at the bleachers where he knew Claire was sitting with her friends on their phones in the coach’s blind spot—except now she was looking at him after that last basket. She waved and he returned it with a beaming smile.

“Alright, your turn,” Jim said as he passed the ball to Toby, who caught it with an _oomph!_ “Class is half over. Just hang in there.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re just trying to impress Claire?” Toby clumsily dribbled the ball as he nervously attempted to pass Jim, but every step he took was quickly cut off. He frowned in mild annoyance before feinting to one side and darting in the opposite, but Jim easily snagged the ball from Toby’s hands, cackling as he jumped away and spun on his toe to aim.

He nearly fell on his rear when the ball was suddenly yanked out of his hands mid-throw. “Ha! Are you kidding?” Steve jeered as he tossed the ball back and forth in his hands. “You really think you can score from the three-point line?”

“Well, we’re not ever gonna find out since you kind of stole the ball out of my hands,” Jim replied drily after having recovered his balance.

“You should thank me. I saved you the embarrassment.”

Jim rolled his eyes but didn’t bother sparing Steve a glance as the bigger kid strutted past him, chuckling as he leisurely dribbled the ball. The dude really wasn’t worth it and class was almost over anyway.

Claire was watching Steve now, Jim noticed. Her brow was pinched in a disgusted frown. Her eyes found his and she shrugged ruefully.

On second thought . . .

Challenge blossoming in his chest, Jim twisted around and sprinted. He snatched the ball right back out of Steve’s hand, surprising the boy as he passed, and shot for the hoop. When Jim turned around, Steve was gaping at him in shock. The ball dropped from the net, bounced once, then fell into his waiting hand. He couldn’t help grinning when he heard Claire cheer for him from across the room.

“Nice shot, Jim!” she called. Her other friends were watching now too, their phones no longer as entertaining as the brewing trouble on the court.

Steve growled angrily, which was a pretty good sign his pride was wounded. Good. “Alright, Lake. You want to play? Let’s go.”

Jim shrugged, “Your ball.” He passed the ball and it bounced into Steve’s waiting hands. Steve immediately sprinted for the hoop. The kid was bigger than him, that had been a fact for as long as he had known him, but there was one thing Jim had in abundance now: speed. He leapt up and viciously smacked the ball out of Steve’s hand before the other kid could release it. The ball bounced way out of their side of the court and rebounded on the opposite wall, startling a few students.

Now Mary and Darci were cheering too.

“Alright, Lake!”

“Kick his ass, Jim! You got this!”

The attention was only further riling him up. Jim laughed and raised his hands in encouragement and the girls whooped. Toby was pumping his fist from the sidelines. Steve was simmering in rage behind him.

Someone kicked the ball back over and Jim picked it up. He turned around to face his steaming opponent. Steve was red in the face with fury and embarrassment and the look in his eyes was downright murderous.

Oh, now _that_ was a good look on him. Jim smirked darkly and tightened himself over the ball, tensed and low to the ground, watching from beneath his brow. He dribbled idly in anticipation, waiting for Steve to lose his patience and make the first move.

He didn’t have to wait long. Steve roared as he charged and Jim sidestepped his swipe, then veered out of the way of another. Their sneakers squeaked loudly against the polished floors as they danced around each other, Steve growing clumsier and clumsier.

Jim could have passed him at any time, but instead he ducked under Steve’s arms and shoved all his weight into the bigger kid’s exposed side, throwing off Steve’s balance and sending him crashing to the floor like a bag of sand. Jim, with nothing to stop him, vaulted for the hoop and slammed the ball through.

The girls cheered loudly behind him as he dangled from the rim, surprised at himself as he stared at the floor beneath him. The basket was a lot higher up than it’d seemed from the ground. He dropped and landed with a grunt.

 _“What_ the hell, Lake! That’s a foul!” Steve cried from the floor, pointing angrily at him. “Coach! He fouled me!”

Coach Lawrence stopped giggling to himself as soon as the rest of the gymnasium turned his way. “Uh, yes. Lake! Steve’s right. That play was illegal. You forfeit the point.” Then he cleared his throat and his tone switched to something more pleasant. “Maybe we should stick you on a team. You like football by any chance?”

Jim shook his head with a grin and fist bumped Toby after leaving the court, his best friend practically vibrating with glee. “You are on fire, dude! You’re a madman!"

“Come on, it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“You just dunked on Steve like you’re Dwight Howard— _athletic superstar_ Steve. You’re being way too modest about this. If you don’t start bragging, I’m gonna do it for you.”

They passed by the bleachers where the girls were, and Jim paused when Mary called out to him. “That was _nuts,_ Jimmy-Jam! I’ve never seen you go so hard before. Did you start doping before gym class or something?”

Toby sniggered at the nickname and Jim elbowed him to shut him up (though, the thought that Mary had ever paid him _any_ attention before today was amusing all on its own). “No, just got lucky.”

“Lucky? More like _possessed,”_ Darci chimed in. Mary high fived her.

Jim scratched behind his ear with a sheepish shrug of his shoulders, feeling a little self-conscious now that the high of the moment was wearing off. He’d managed to burn some of that wild energy and it just left him with that pressing anxiety that’d plagued him all morning—the fear that someone might figure him out. Gangly, unassuming Jim Lake crushing one of the school’s top athletes in a round of basketball? It wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.

“So _that’s_ where the bear bit you? Looks brutal,” Mary said suddenly, pointing at Jim’s forearm. Claire nudged her with a hiss then shot Jim an apologetic look. He shrugged—Mary was always one to speak her mind and he knew there was zero filter between her brain and her mouth. The scars weren’t going anywhere, so maybe he should just get used to it.

A whistle sounded and all five of them snapped their attention to Coach Lawrence. “Alright, girls, on your feet. This ain’t a sleepover!”

Mary rolled her eyes with a groan and begrudgingly vacated the bleachers, Darci close behind. Toby propelled himself into the middle of their conversation, using Jim’s performance as a kickoff to anchor himself a spot in their excited exchange. He was so caught up with talking to the girls that he didn’t notice Jim wasn’t keeping pace, who was instead lost in his own head as he thought back to the game with Steve.

He’d really made a spectacle of himself. All for what—to show off? He wasn’t even sure what’d compelled him to show up the other kid so hard. He hadn’t cared about sports since he was a kid, and any competitive nature he’d ever possessed had simply mellowed with age.

So _why_ was his need to win so _loud?_

“Well, _you_ certainly made a full recovery.”

Jim snapped his head up in surprise, having been so caught up in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed that Claire had hung back as well. She smiled at him and he returned it with a little laugh. “Yeah, guess I’m just having a good day,” he replied shyly. “Um. Just so we’re clear, I’m not, like, taking any drugs like Mary said.”

“Don’t worry, I know. Though, that last basket _did_ seem a little superhuman.”

 _Oh my god you have no idea._ “Honestly, it surprised me too.”

She dropped from the bleachers and stood before him, clearing her throat. “So, there’s that history test next Friday. Since you’re feeling better, maybe you’d want to drop by my house sometime to get a head start on studying?”

He blinked. “Wait, you . . . _want_ to keep helping me? Even though my arm’s fixed?”

“Well, we share history, so, why not?”

Oh god, she might actually save his life. His workload was going to be _atrocious_ after missing an entire week—which was, ironically, now one of the last things on his mind with everything else going on. But he still had to keep up appearances, lest his mother find another reason to scrutinize him. “Sure! That sounds great. Oh, and, uh. Break a leg tonight.”

Claire beamed at him and gave a little departing wave as she went to catch up with her friends. Jim almost followed but his attention became divided between her and Eli—the latter of whom was standing off to the side on his own, tying his shoelaces.

Eli Pepperjack was . . . a bit of a head case, to put it lightly. The kid was short, scraggly, and a bit of a late bloomer, but his reputation for extreme paranoia regarding paranormal sightings was strong enough to exceed the school. Essentially, no one was much of a fan. But despite his awkward ramblings and wild conspiracy theories, Jim had always tried to be a friendly face in the crowd of contemptuous peers.

And, perhaps, his only possible lead into whatever the hell he was dealing with at night.

The sound of Jim’s shoes approaching made Eli glance up. He immediately shot to his feet with a wide grin. “Hi, Jim!” he greeted, voice cracking horrifically. That had always been one of his defining traits—at least after his voice finally dropped sophomore year. It mostly just happened when he was excited.

“Hey, I have a question,” Jim began, wondering how he should put it into words. He was still a little nervous to be interacting with Eli, because if anyone was going to jump to wild conclusions, Eli would be the first. The last thing Jim needed was someone _that_ determined on his case, so he needed to be careful. “You say there’s monsters in Arcadia. What exactly makes you so certain about that?”

The boy sobered immediately and squared his shoulders. “You’re not gonna make fun of me like everyone else, are you?”

“What? No! Of course not. I’m just . . . curious.”

Eli deflated a little in relief, eyes dropping to his shoes before flicking elsewhere, thoughtful. He straightened again and adjusted his glasses, eyes hard and deadly serious as they rose to meet Jim’s. He was a very short kid. “I don’t know for sure what creeps around Arcadia, but I know there’s _something._ Creatures of the night with glowing eyes and stone for skin.”

Oh, shit. Two for two, Jim thought. “You’ve seen these things?” he asked.

“Glimpses.” Eli pulled out his phone and brought up an image. “Whatever they are, they don’t want to be seen. I took this picture of one but I was far away. See this figure?”

He turned the screen to show Jim—the image was dark, out of focus, and a little blurry from movement. Whatever Eli had meant to capture was saved by the atrocious camera quality on his phone. But if Jim looked hard enough, he could _just_ make out the two pixels of yellow, which must be eyes.

Those eyes from under the bridge flashed in his head. Then the eyes from the other night came to mind.

He remembered his _own_ eyes, blazing blue in the dark of his bathroom.

Eli pulled the phone away and was already talking again. “And you know how pets go missing all the time? I think these things come out at night and eat them. Sometimes, I think they even eat people—that’s why those who disappear in Arcadia are never seen again. I’m telling you, Jim, these things are vicious, bloodthirsty monsters. Nobody listens, but they’re _monsters,_ Jim.”

Jim stared back silently, eyes wide, lost for words. And, if he was being honest with himself, a tad regretful for asking to begin with. “Well, you’ve . . . really opened my eyes, Eli.”

“So, you believe me?!” Eli smiled hopefully as he bounced on his feet.

“Well, I—”

Eli pounded his fist into the air and cheered. “Yes! I’m _not_ crazy!”

Jim backed away slowly, confident the boy was too immersed in his own joy to notice, and made to catch up with Toby, mind running wild. Eli wasn’t exactly a trusted source, but he was clearly on to something, and he’d been right about a few things, which meant these creatures frequented town enough for the kid to spot consistencies.

That was a really chilling thought. How had more people not been attacked by these things? Did Jim just run into a really mean one under the bridge, or what? Maybe they only attacked when provoked, like—well, like bears.

Jim was confident some of the missing persons cases from past years were caused by these creatures. The ransacked campsite had made him certain of that. He’d almost been a victim himself and only got away by the skin of his teeth—or rather, teeth in his skin. So, it was only a matter of time before someone else fell victim.

But now that he shared some of those traits with these things, maybe he could stop it from happening.

* * *

Distant thunder rumbled overhead in the black sky. The school showed signs of little activity; lights were still on and the occasional stray student wandered through the door here and there, but it was much quieter than the rest of the week.

And for Jim, that meant he didn’t feel so inclined to keep a lookout for anything lurking in the shadows. Now he prowled on the roof, pressing his ears to ventilation hoods and listening for any echoes of voices. It was a good thing he was so high up, too, because the sound of his claws tearing into the grate and pulling it off was _deafening—_ he gently laid it against the hood, promising to put it back later.

As he carefully lowered himself into the vent, he tried not to think too hard about the fact that he was essentially breaking and entering. Not that anyone would ever be on the roof to notice the damage, but he couldn’t help but feel guilty because what he was doing was incredibly selfish. Thank goodness for his natural grace though, because without his ability to manage his weight distribution, he’d be causing a _lot_ more problems.

Finding the auditorium wasn’t difficult. The voices of students carried through the vents and he simply used his ears to guide his direction. Just a couple turns; a short drop here; a left there . . .

And, bingo. Jim gingerly removed the vent cover and dropped silently onto the balcony. Since it was the last night for auditions, the theatre was mostly empty, save for Ms. Janeth and a handful of students by the stage or lingering along the walls. That left him alone and obscured in the shadows above, free to exist without worry of being seen.

This was so stupid. He knew that. There were hell spawns chilling around Arcadia and he was hiding in the auditorium of his school, all for the chance to watch a girl he liked audition for a play he knew nothing about. But the sun had recently set, he was freshly transformed, and he had the entire night ahead of him. For once, he was going to feel normal, goddammit, if only for a couple minutes. The universe owed him that much.

Jim sat down in a chair and scanned the room below. Claire wasn’t present that he could see, and he really hoped she hadn’t already gone on. Other students took their turns and he watched with little interest, slouched in his seat with a hand pressed to his brow, bored.

God, he forgot how much he really didn’t care for this kind of shit.

But then Ms. Janeth called for Claire and she skipped out onto the stage, beaming with enough enthusiasm for him to sense all the way from his seat. It made him smile, and he sat upright in anticipation as she announced her part.

He’d seen her act before, in the past. Once or twice his mom had dragged him to a school play just to check it out and Claire was always there on stage as some lead role. Every time, she’d managed to break through and ensnare his attention so thoroughly. The amount of passion she poured into her character—even now, in an empty auditorium with nothing but the script in her hand—was enough to immerse Jim in the world being imagined.

And, for a moment, make him forget his own reality.

The students below clapped once she’d finished and he had to resist the urge to do so himself. With a bright smile, Claire took a short bow and Ms. Janeth ushered her off stage for the next student, and he watched her disappear back stage. He wished he could be down there with her, complimenting her on such a beautiful performance. In another world, that might have been the case.

It was raining by the time Jim pulled himself back onto the roof—a light, steady drizzle that filled the night with a pattering thrum. The outside smelled cool and crisp and he took a deep breath, letting his senses fill with his surroundings. Thunder rumbled lazily overhead, but no lightning cut through the dark. Everything was calm, silent, and still.

He didn’t regret watching the auditions, but now he just felt empty. Desperate for some purpose to distract himself from the hole in his heart. He’d left home with a plan—to search for any signs of monsters around town. All night, if he had to, like every night since the first. What he’d do if he found one, he wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t willing to do nothing.

Jim cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, then leapt from the roof.

The canals were always the beginning. They never changed, and tonight wasn’t any different. The shadows beneath the bridge were void of life. Even the pile of rocks had remained untouched since Jim’s first encounter two weeks ago. Being under the bridge always made him feel prickly, and he had to fight the discomfort that crawled up his throat every time he looked at the scattered shards of stone. They always reminded him of that black monster.

He moved on. The next move was retracing the steps he’d taken chasing that creature earlier in the week. It led him back to the school, but offered nothing more. Auditions must have finished because Arcadia Oaks was now dark with inactivity; an eerie backdrop in the mist.

After that, Jim just wandered. Before long he’d exhausted every corner of Arcadia. Now he was just bored. It was almost funny—he wore the skin of a creature that lurked at night and possessed inhuman physical potential, but all he wanted to do was scroll through social media for lack of anything better to do.

Which is exactly what he’d be doing this hour if he were human. He hadn’t felt the need to sleep since before his transformations became routine, but now he considered trying just to pass the time.

It was early in the morning now and Jim meandered through the deserted streets in the middle of town, swaying back and forth on his feet as he walked. The rain hadn’t stopped but it hadn’t picked up either, and either way it didn’t bother him one bit—except his matted hair kept curtaining over his eyes, and he had to slick it back constantly. His mood was growing sour and he itched for _something_ to do to occupy himself.

Something clattered somewhere nearby and Jim stilled immediately, ears at attention. He frowned and made his way toward the source of the noise, keeping to the shadows of nearby businesses. The street was empty but his ears twitched as he heard the faint whisper of voices over the drizzle of rain. Human voices.

How unusual. Typically, only a few patrolling cops were awake at these hours, and they were often confined to their squad cars. Arcadia’s commercial district was always deserted this time of night—Jim would know.

Then he noticed the front door of an electronics store—a single pane was missing, but it was a big enough hole to stick an arm through if someone were to, say, get at the lock on the other side. Completely unnoticeable in the dark to human eyes. But Jim saw everything as he got closer—the small shards of glass on the concrete, the door not quite shut, the pair of bodies dressed in dark clothes rifling through the store’s contents.

Jim hummed disapprovingly as he watched the trespassers converse quietly amongst themselves about product values, so engrossed they didn’t notice him standing right outside the window. His reflection stared back at him through the glass: electric eyes, curved horns, livid skin. He bared his teeth at himself—and maybe, another time, remembering how fearsome he looked would have made him uneasy.

Then he smiled.

 _This_ would give him something to do.

The thugs didn’t even hear him enter. Jim gently pushed the door aside and ducked in, dripping with rainwater, unhurried. He eyed the weapons they were carrying—there was a crowbar on the counter next to the first and the second gripped a wooden baseball bat. The thieves stood separated with their backs to him, both seeing to their own tasks. Crowbar was at the register and Bat was throwing parts into a backpack.

Jim sauntered up behind Bat and stood silently, watching over his shoulder. The thief’s hood was up but he must have noticed Jim’s shadow after a moment because he suddenly tensed. He stood frozen, halfway to grabbing another pricey item, before slowly glancing back.

Jim grinned as their eyes connected and the thief’s face drained of color. “Hi there,” Jim greeted cheerfully.

The man screamed and threw himself against the wall in terror. Remembering he was holding a bat, he pulled back and swung at Jim’s head. Jim stepped just out of its range and watched, amused, as the thief stumbled over his own momentum. With a cry, the man charged at him and swung again, but Jim caught the bat effortlessly.

“Careful. You could hurt someone with this,” he said before wrenching it out of the man’s hands and shoving him away. The man crashed into the mounted shelves on the wall before dropping to the floor in a cascade of electronics.

Oops. Still getting used to the inhuman strength.

He heard a panicked shout from behind and turned to find the second man rushing over, crowbar in hand. Jim veered away, stepping over stray parts and kiting the man through the store, chuckling mirthfully with every missed swing. Were his reflexes just that good or was this guy just really predictable? It kind of felt like the latter.

The thief overshot his next swing and cracked his fingers against a shelf. He howled in pain and dropped the crowbar, the weapon clattering noisily on the floor. Seething, he drew his injured hand against his chest and curled the other into a fist. It struck Jim square in the chest and Jim actually heard a _crunch!_ on impact. The man stumbled away, doubled over in agony.

Well, that’s one way to disarm an attacker.

Jim stepped in front of the man when he tried to dart for the exit. “Woah! Not so fast! We’re only just getting to know each other.”

Out of options, the panicking thief threw his whole body against Jim, hoping to displace him using his weight, but Jim didn’t even flinch, and the man staggered back before falling onto the floor in a pathetic, moaning heap. Jim had to bite back his amusement. Maybe he was enjoying this a little too much.

“I don’t think these are yours,” he said as he stepped over the man and tore the backpack away. He threw it onto the front counter.

 _“Please don’t kill me,”_ the man whispered hoarsely, curled up and quivering on the floor.

“Kill you?” Jim frowned, confused. “Why would I kill you? I haven’t even touched you—"

He winced as something shattered over his head—it didn’t hurt, he just hadn’t been expecting it. Growling, he glanced over his shoulder to find the second thief standing behind him with wide eyes and the splintered remains of his bat firmly grasped in both hands.

Something inside him snapped. With a vicious snarl, Jim grabbed the man by the throat and flung him at the window. The glass shattered on impact and the thief grunted as he hit the sidewalk before being showered in flying shards.

Jim blinked. _That_ was definitely taking it too far. He wasn’t sure what had come over him, he just . . . felt really angry for a moment.

But his strength was terrifying. The man he’d thrown wasn’t moving.

The alarm went off—breaking the window must have been what it took to trip the security system. How useless. Jim grabbed the second thief by the leg and dragged him outside with the first, and he didn’t resist when Jim tangled them together with their own sleeves.

His ears twitched at the faint approaching of sirens. The police would have a hell of a time getting those knots undone. Jim retreated into the shadows, eager to disappear before the authorities arrived. The thugs would tell on him—he could count on that—but as long as he made himself scarce, they’d be just a couple of nutcases getting busted for attempted robbery.

And he hoped that guy he threw was okay. Jim made a mental note to keep himself in tighter check—there was still no telling what he was capable of, or how much control he had over it.

Well, at least his night was officially no longer boring. He could have a future in crime fighting—or would, if Arcadia’s crime rate wasn’t already so low. He could thank Claire’s mom for that one. And he felt _really_ good. It was no man-eating monster, but . . . he stopped an organized break-in! How cool was that?

Holy shit, did he wish he could tell Toby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been another pretty exhausting week for me cause of my allergies. srsly i've been sleeping so much BUT the fact that i'm pulling myself together enough to find time for writing kind of owns and i'm proud of myself for being productive
> 
> next chapter probably on friday. gonna go play video games and turn my brain off now thanks bye


	7. Fair is Foul and Foul is Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a while, everything seemed quiet. Until it wasn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i absolutely could have uploaded this on time but then my brain was like "no put in another scene" and then i added 3k words lol so here we are. honestly a day delay is probably a fair trade for what is now once again my longest chapter
> 
> a lot of this is fluffy and self-indulgent but there's some action at the end :)

"Jimbo, my man, _please_ don’t tell me you forgot to bring our lunch today.”

“Sorry, Tobes. I had a . . . late morning.”

Jim had a deal with Toby: every time there was a geology exam, Toby would drill him with the section’s terms to score him more points, which helped balance out his GPA. In exchange, Jim made something special at home to eat at school for the both of them.

The problem was lately Jim had been a little distracted with being a walking nightmare. And the days were beginning to blur together on account of never sleeping.

“Yeesh. So much for your school work binge,” Toby pouted.

“Hey, Claire’s still helping me catch up, I’ve just been kinda busy. But I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll, uh—I’ll bring you leftovers on Friday. I’m making _carne asada_ tomorrow night.”

“Ooh, Mexican.” Toby rubbed his hands together eagerly, then sighed and patted his belly. “Alright, well. I could stand to lose a few pounds, I guess. Maybe skipping a meal isn’t such a bad idea.”

Jim scoffed—Toby’d been vowing to reshape himself for years, and though he hadn’t gotten much taller since their earlier days of high school, he’d at least filled out more consistently with age. These days, he should be more worried about his braces, which never seemed to get any closer to redundancy. “Yeah, no. To hell with that. Let’s just go out for lunch today.”

Toby’s expression lifted instantly. “Oh, god, _thank you._ You know, as seniors, we really should be abusing open campus more often, anyway. Oh, _oh,_ chin up,” he said as he lightly elbowed Jim’s arm, “girls inbound.”

“Claire,” Jim greeted cheerfully as she pulled up to his and Toby’s lockers with her friends in tow.

“Hey,” she smiled, but it turned apologetic. “Sorry about flaking on you yesterday. I had to do an emergency call with my college advisor to discuss credit hours.”

Jim shrugged. “No big deal. I actually finished the rest of that Spanish sheet pretty quickly. Wasn’t that hard.”

“See? I told you your conjugation was getting better.”

“Mary, Darci. You both look radiant today,” Toby directed at the other two girls with a flourish. They each fixed him with flat stares.

“We look radiant _every_ day, you dork. That’s hardly a brilliant observation,” Mary snapped.

“But not an unwelcome one,” Darci added. “Feel free to continue.”

Claire rolled her eyes and pulled Jim aside so they weren’t in the crossfire of the trio’s heated exchange. “Also, I wanted to give you a heads up. I won’t be able to study with you after school anymore—I got the part of Lady Macbeth.”

“Really? That’s great!” Jim exclaimed with a grin he hoped hid his disappointment. Also, he had no idea who that was, but it was probably some important role because Claire was too good _not_ to land a lead.

“Yeah, sorry. Most of my evenings are pretty booked with rehearsal from here on. But we can still trade notes during school, like at lunch? I have the whole lunch block open.”

“Oh, about that. Toby and are gonna go off campus for lunch. Do you want to come? We haven’t decided where we’re going yet—”

“The Greek pizza place downtown, _obviously!”_ Toby shouted from the lockers.

“—but it sounds like Greek pizza’s a strong contender. What do you say? I’ll buy—like as a thank you for all the help with my homework. I’m already paying for Toby’s cause I owe him, so.”

“That’s sweet of you, but I’ll pay for my own.”

“Oh, come on—”

“You can pay for me _next_ time,” she said, and her smile was so disarming Jim found himself too tongue-tied to argue. Claire glanced over at where her friends were still squabbling with Toby and looked a little relieved. “It’ll be nice getting away from school for a bit.”

“Yeah,” Jim mumbled as he, for like the fifth time that morning, caught Steve glaring at him from across the courtyard. “I’ll say.”

She followed his gaze and sighed. “Is Steve seriously still mad about last week? It was just gym class.”

Steve was leaning against the wall with his friends in the shade, sharing snide comments and smirking, all while never breaking eye contact. He pointed at Jim before sticking his thumb out and jabbing it downwards, lip curling. Jim rolled his eyes and turned his back to the other kid. “He’s been harassing me for a rematch, but I kind of already learned my lesson about encouraging him. Otherwise I get—” Jim gestured over his shoulder. “—that. Anyway, Toby and I have social studies this block, so we’ll meet you back here in like thirty minutes. Cool?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They parted ways, Claire beckoning to her friends while Jim hooked his arm under Toby’s and yanked him in the opposite direction, making the boy yelp as he was forced to disengage from Mary and Darci.

“You know, it’s rude to interrupt people,” he pouted, rubbing at his shoulder.

“That conversation was less productive than Steve during an exam. You have got to stop flirting with them all the time.”

“You should thank me for taking the heat so you have Claire all to yourself,” he grinned, eyebrows waggling. Jim groaned. “So, she’s coming with us off campus?”

“Yeah. She can’t hang out after school anymore with play rehearsals, so we’re just gonna share notes at school instead. So, I invited her.”

“Hmm. Maybe I should, you know, hang back this one time and let you take it solo—”

“Toby, oh my god. You say that like I’m not alone with her all the time when we study.”

“Yeah, but have you ever, y’know, _not_ studied with her when you two are alone?”

“What is _that_ supposed to imply?”

“Like going out for food, or whatever, in a manner that might be considered _romantic.”_

“God, just shut up. You’re coming with us—and I’m paying for your food, so if anyone’s my date, it’s you.”

Toby shrugged.

As planned, they met up after class—just the three of them, since Mary and Darci shared a different lunch block. Claire offered to drive, and the boys followed her as she led them to her car. The sun was out, but as soon as Jim was in it, he had a strong desire to stay in it. He spent so much time under the moon he was beginning to miss the heat of the sun.

They were halfway across the parking lot when he spoke up. “How about we walk instead?” Both Toby and Claire turned to throw him curious looks. He shrugged, now a little self-conscious. “It’s nice out.”

They exchanged glances. The weather was slowly shifting with the approaching fall, and it was the warmest it’d been in some weeks, with the air being the perfect balance of warm and breezy. Jim was grateful he’d left his jacket back in his locker.

“Sure, why not?” Claire agreed after a moment. Toby looked a little less enthusiastic but didn’t argue. “But we won’t make it downtown and back in time before you guys have to go back to class.”

“How about somewhere closer? If that’s fine with you guys.”

“There’s a café a couple blocks from here. You ever been to Benoit’s?”

“That French café? My mom goes there all the time—she loves that place.”

“Doctor L _does_ have good taste,” Toby nodded sagely as they headed for the street. Then he groaned, “Honestly, I could use a coffee to get me through Uhl’s class. Dude’s a real headcase lately.”

“Has he gotten his truck fixed yet?” Claire asked.

Jim frowned. “What happened to his truck?”

“Have you not seen it? The front’s totally trashed. I tried asking but he gets super weird and vague about it. Then he gets mad and starts yelling in class, so nobody asks anymore.” She glanced around the lot before pointing. “See? Right there.”

Jim followed her gesture and forgot how to walk for a second, nearly falling flat on his face as he stumbled—because _yeah,_ he’d seen the damage on the old white truck before. There was a very familiar impression in the crumpled hood.

Whoops.

“Yeah and he’s been such a jerk cause his truck’s busted—well, more of a jerk than usual, anyway,” Toby grumbled.

“Maybe he’s just going through the stages of grief,” Jim replied stiffly, tearing his gaze away from the truck with a grimace. Uhl was always a pain in the ass so Jim hadn’t noticed anything off—not that he paid the man much attention to begin with. “He’s practically married to that truck.”

Toby clicked his tongue. “Should consider a divorce. The truck deserves better.” Claire burst into laughter and Jim fist bumped him.

The walk was short and pleasant. Jim didn’t frequent the café like his mother did but he knew it was a local favorite because it seemed to be within range of everything, especially the school. Before long, they were seated outside in the sun with their meals.

Well, except Toby.

“Ugh, they’re taking _forever.”_

“Yeah, it’s lunch hour, Tobes. They’re probably backed up,” Jim said dryly. He was already half-finished with his own food and Claire was right behind him.

“You guys better wait for me if you finish before I get mine.”

“We’ll wait for you. No rush,” Claire assured him before turning to Jim. “Have you looked at Mr. Strickler’s study guide yet?”

“Yeah, I have it right here. The third page is kicking my ass.”

“Man, I should have brought mine too,” Toby groused.

“You _knew_ we were doing this. I said it like, fifty times.” Toby crossed his arms and muttered something unintelligible under his breath and Jim rolled his eyes. It was clear hunger was putting the boy in a bad mood—good thing he’d suggested the outing, or he’d have a sour Toby on his hands the rest of the day.

Right on cue, the cashier at the front counter called out a number and Toby perked up. “Oh my god, _finally!”_ he cried before hopping out of his chair and disappearing inside the café.

Jim shook his head and returned to comparing his assignment to Claire’s, which she’d laid out next to his. Claire leaned closer, sipping at her coffee as she watched him write. “You know, I expected your handwriting to be better with the cast off.”

He glanced up, feigning offense. “Um, excuse me. I suffered permanent nerve damage.” At the remorseful pinch of her brow, he grinned. “I’m just kidding. My handwriting’s always trash.”

She exhaled sharply in relief. “Not funny,” she scolded him, though contrary to her words her smile was as warm as the sun. It made him feel all fuzzy inside. “I’m still not sure how touchy that subject is for you.”

Jim shrugged. “It’s not a big deal anymore.” He turned back to his paper and resumed writing, not noticing Claire reaching for him until her fingers lightly brushed over the scarring on his forearm.

“Sorry,” she said quickly when he jumped in surprise. She pulled back and averted her gaze, her cheeks dusted red from embarrassment. “I should have asked first. That was rude of me.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Here.” He put down his pen and offered her his arm. The scars covered both sides, since the beast had been massive enough to swallow his entire arm, so he twisted his hand around, palm up, and showed her the inside. “I don’t mind.”

Claire took his invitation with a small smile and he held his breath as she touched the discolored skin, feeling the tickle of her fingers as they traveled from his wrist to elbow. He hated them—there was no sugarcoating it. He _hated_ his scars. They were ugly, unsightly things, just like the creature he became after sunset. All they were to him was a painful reminder of that terrible night that started this whole nightmare.

But Claire didn’t look at them like they were ugly. Her eyes were only curious—and, maybe a little sorrowful. Her thumb traced gently over the raised tissue, and his gaze was soft as he watched her study his skin.

He hadn’t expected letting someone touch his scars to feel so intimate.

“I can’t believe a bear did this to you,” she muttered thoughtfully.

“Yeah, it was a . . . really big bear,” Jim replied hoarsely. He cleared his throat and couldn’t stop his leg from bouncing—she was still touching him and staring at his scars and now his heart was racing because some irrational part of him feared she’d figure it out just by looking and he was getting _really nervous—_

“Are you scared of the dark?”

Her question snapped him out it. “Th—the dark?”

“Yeah, you . . . I’ve noticed you never stick around after sunset. Are you afraid of being outside at night? Because of what happened?”

He had to give her credit—her assertion wasn’t that far off. He really _wasn’t_ a big fan of the dark, just for an entirely different reason than she was thinking. But he was at a loss for words because _wow, she was really observant._ “Uh,” he stammered.

“I mean, I totally get that what you went through was probably really traumatizing. I don’t think I’d ever be able to sleep again if that happened to me.”

Pretty much, he thought, since he was starting to forget what sleep felt like.

“But I hate that you feel like this, so I just want you know I’m here for you if you want help overcoming that fear.”

She was saying so many things and Jim couldn’t keep up fast enough to stop her.

“I’ve got an idea, actually. Hear me out, okay? If you came with me to rehearsals after school, I could get you a spot as a stagehand—they do things like prop construction and scene dressing. It’s really fun, but it’s all volunteer-based, otherwise the cast has to pick up the slack. Rehearsal runs pretty late but I can just drive you home. So, this way, you can start rebuilding that confidence about being out after dark without ever being alone.”

Jim’s head was spinning by the end of her speech. He was also deeply conflicted. On one hand, he was very touched she was so committed to seeing him through this challenge. On the other hand, well . . .

It was really without saying.

“Claire, I,” he began roughly, gently moving her hand off his arm and suddenly feeling a little ill. His sandwich no longer looked appetizing. “I really appreciate what you’re trying to do—I really, _really_ do. But, I . . . don’t know how to explain it in a way that makes sense, I just . . . can’t be out after dark. I just _can’t.”_

Her silence was deafening. Jim couldn’t bear to look her in the eye. He saw her deflate in his peripheral and felt horrible. All she wanted to do was include him so he didn’t feel so alone, and he had to throw it back at her like some scared chump. _God,_ he was such a loser.

“It’s okay. I understand,” she said quietly. “Maybe you’re not ready for that step yet.”

The tension left behind was uncomfortable and stifling. Jim had half a mind to jump out of his seat and make a run for it just so he could breathe.

He got a better idea instead.

“I, uh. Saw your audition.”

Claire frowned, eyeing him curiously. “You saw my audition?”

“Yeah, I was . . . running errands with my mom, and I dropped by to watch. You were really awesome, by the way.”

She stared at him, and judging by the calculating look in her eye Jim guessed she was trying to figure out if he was lying or not. “I don’t remember seeing you there.”

“I didn’t want to disrupt anything so I kind of stayed out of the way.” He shrugged and repeated one of the lines she’d spoken at auditions—her monologue had been stuck in his head since that night. _“The raven himself is hoarse that croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan under my battlements._ And then there was something about sex—is this play even school appropriate?”

Claire clapped her hands over her mouth and cackled, her cheeks rosy. Then she punched his arm and pulled the script from her backpack before slapping it down in front of him. She pointed to a line: _“’Unsex me here’_ is a spiritual plea to be stripped of feminine weakness, knucklehead. Obviously, it didn’t age well. Why didn’t you tell me you came?”

He skimmed the rest of the monologue, and—yep, definitely sounded better in context. “Sorry. Too much on my mind and not enough sleep lately. Just kind of forgot to mention it.”

Claire placed her hand atop his and squeezed, her smile bright. “Fine. I forgive you.”

“You guys better still be down with waiting for me!” Toby announced as he shoved his way through the café door, order in hand. “The head start you have is just downright unfair.”

Claire pulled her hand away and Jim straightened in his chair. “Jesus—where have you been?”

“Uh, inside? They mixed up my order. Twice! Sheesh, can you believe the service of this place? Whose idea was it to come here?”

“I think it was mine,” Claire answered and Toby shut his mouth with a click. Jim chuckled.

“Uh, so. What’d I miss?”

“Not a lot,” Jim shrugged. They both glanced at Claire when she suddenly gasped, and the boys turned to where she was excitedly pointing. A short distance behind Toby was a black cat, who was peering into the window of the café with interest. Toby instantly twisted around in his chair and began beckoning for the cat with enticing sounds, its head swiveling as its attention was immediately captured.

Jim recognized the cat by the unique white pattern on its breast—he’d chased it once or twice at night while high on his baser instincts. Now, watching it quickly pad over to Toby and bump against his hand, he just felt bad, even if the cat always seemed to vanish into thin air before he got anywhere close. It was an elusive little thing; he’d give it that.

“Think he’s here for a free meal?” Jim joked as the cat approached him next, giving his fingers a quick sniff before arching up into his touch. He could feel its lithe body vibrate with the intensity of its purrs. Yeah—he definitely felt bad now.

“He can have whatever he wants,” Claire cooed, the cat moving on to her. It rubbed against her leg and chirped and she scratched under its chin. “Precious boy.”

The bell on the café door rang as someone exited and Jim looked up in time to see a young man glance over, frown in annoyance, and mutter, _“Oy,”_ under his breath. He quickly approached them and the cat jerked to attention.

“Sorry if he’s disturbing you,” he apologized, and Jim had to double-take at the strange accent. It definitely wasn’t local—in fact, it wasn’t native to the continent. Somewhere from the United Kingdom, maybe, and _annoyingly_ debonair. But the extra-weird thing was how that kind of voice was the _last_ thing he’d expected to come out of this guy, who was dressed like he planned on attending a cybergoth party under a bridge somewhere.

“This is your cat?” Claire asked him, and he nodded—and now Jim felt especially bad, because he assumed the cat was a stray. Knowing he’d been terrorizing someone’s pet made it seem worse.

“Sad little beast, isn’t he? Quite the beggar, too. Always winds up here, hoping I’ll sneak him out an appetizer.” His stern expression softened as he watched the cat roll onto its back, exposing its belly for Claire to rub. If it was possible for the cat to look smug, it did, and the young man rolled his eyes. “He really seems to like _you,_ though.”

Claire beamed, and Jim’s jaw tightened irritably. “You work here?” he asked suddenly, grabbing the punk dude’s attention and steering it _away_ from Claire.

“On the weekends,” he shrugged. “I’m just here to pick up my paycheck. And this little bastard, apparently.” He kneeled down and the cat begrudgingly righted itself, pulling away from Claire and hopping onto the young man’s shoulder. It sat perched there as he stood, looking quite proud from its elevated position. “We’ll leave you to your lunch. And, you there—” He pointed at Toby. “—the boys on duty are deeply sorry for the wait. Rush hours are never their time to shine.”

“Hey, no sweat!” Toby waved him off, seemingly _also_ pulled in by this dude’s charm. With a two-fingered salute, he took his leave.

Or, almost did. Something made him pause as his eyes dropped, and Jim realized it was because he was fixated on Claire’s script. “I recognize this,” he said, then turned to Claire. _“Macbeth,_ is it? Quite a grim tale.”

She grinned, seemingly delighted at the mention of the topic. Which, of course she would be, cause she’s super into theatre production and _ugh_ why won’t this guy _leave already?!_ “You know Shakespeare?”

“Indeed. In fact, I was there opening night.”

“Opening night. For _Macbeth?”_

“Quite a show, I remember. Though, that kind of thing was always a little precarious with the plague going around.”

Claire giggled, somehow finding hilarity in a joke that wasn’t really that funny. Or, at least, Jim didn’t think it was. The young man glanced up, and though there was a smile on his face, there wasn’t any humor in his eyes. Just something infuriatingly sly, like he carried some grand secret.

Jim decided right then and there that he really didn’t like this guy.

“Very funny,” she said after a moment. “Arcadia Oaks High is performing _Macbeth_ later this semester. I’m playing Lady Macbeth.”

“And a lovely Lady I’m sure you’ll make,” he responded smoothly. Then he pointed at Jim and Toby. “You two also in the play?”

“No, they’re just—”

“Stagehands!” Jim cut in. “We’re not _in_ the play, but we help out backstage.”

Toby stared at him, confused. “We are?”

Claire was also staring in confusion. “I thought you didn’t—”

“I can spare an hour or two after school. Toby?”

Toby thought for a moment. “Actually, I’ve always wanted to be in production. Sure, count me in.”

The young man glanced between them with amusement. The cat appeared a little bored. “Sounds like a good time. Maybe I’ll swing by opening night later this fall? See your work in action?”

“We open in November,” Claire supplied.

“Well, consider me convinced. I look forward to your performance.” With that, he dipped forward with a flourishing bow as he backed away, which made Claire bite her lip to stifle her mirth. Then he spun on his heel and stuck his fingers in his pockets as he ambled down the sidewalk, chatting to the cat draped lazily over his shoulders.

Jim watched him leave with cold eyes. “Well, that was interesting,” he muttered, not especially kind.

Claire turned back to the table, still smiling. “He was really nice. So, Jim—you’re serious about coming to rehearsal?”

He thought for a moment and shrugged. “As long as I’m gone before dark, I don’t see why not. Sounds like fun.” And maybe learning the play would give him an excuse to connect with her more.

She looked absolutely thrilled at his change of heart.

* * *

“Mr. Lake. Mr. Domzalski. As enticing as it may seem, I’m must _again_ request that you refrain from misusing the weaponry.”

Jim and Toby simultaneously dropped the prop swords they were hitting each other with and straightened, each wearing their own guilty smile. Ms. Janeth glowered at the pair of them, the crinkle in her brow growing deeper as the afternoon went on. Then, with a weary sigh, she retreated back to the stage and called for the actors to retake their places.

As it turned out, being a stagehand _was_ a lot of fun. Incredibly messy, but fun. At first, Ms. Janeth had been more than ecstatic when Claire offered them up as lackeys to be ordered around by Eli, who was overseeing the prop construction. Since it was the first night, he’d started them out on crafting weapons, since those were pretty easy with the proper direction.

The problem with fabricating swords was the unbearable urge to test them that came with it.

“Oh my god, you guys. _Stop,”_ Claire laughed as she shoved her way between Jim and Toby, both of whom were already taking up arms now that Ms. Janeth was once again occupied. “You’re going to get kicked out if you keep trying to kill each other.”

“Aye, so the cowardly knight doth let the damsel fight his battles for him?” Toby jeered at Jim in what was probably one of the worst Scottish accents ever attempted. Claire frowned, ripped Jim’s sword out of his hand, then slapped it hard enough against Toby’s to knock his own loose. He yelped when Claire whacked him over the head with the flat of her blade.

“Call me a damsel again, and I’ll behead you in the name of Scotland,” she said sweetly. Jim watched her strut away with swaying hips as she twirled the sword in her grip, thoroughly amused. He hadn’t an ounce of sympathy for Toby, who rubbed at his head with a grimace.

“I deserved that,” Toby muttered.

“Yep. You did,” Jim agreed. “Come on—let’s get back to work.”

It was the most fun he’d had with friends in weeks. Ms. Janeth kept most of the actors busy on stage, but many of the students working behind the curtain with him and Toby were just as willing to mess around for a laugh. Claire’s friends were also in the play, which meant any engagement with Toby was immediately entertaining.

Jim had almost forgotten what it felt like to be normal. Not even Steve’s overbearing presence could dampen his mood.

Actually, that wasn’t true. One thing _could_ dampen his mood, and that one thing was Eli. Even when the kid was pretty distracted with dictating a mini workforce, he still somehow managed to throw in a reference or two regarding supernatural forces. It was enough to break Jim’s immersion in normalcy and set his mind back on all the madness the night brought with it.

“You missed a spot,” Jim deadpanned without looking as he stared at his phone. He saw Toby perk up in his peripheral, a brush in one hand and a half-painted sword in the other.

“Wh—aren’t you supposed to be _helping?”_

“You’re the one who needs to regain his honor. Chop, chop, squire.” Jim flinched away with a grin when Toby shoved a foot at him. He sat back down, comfortably settled with his back to the wall so no one could peer over his shoulder.

He’d begun documenting all the things he found. Signs were subtle, but if he looked hard enough, they were unmistakable—sometimes he’d find chips in a tree’s bark, or faded impressions in dried mud, or trampled foliage. He also began noticing minute changes in the canals. He’d find new scratches in the concrete that hadn’t been there the night before, or there’d be pieces of debris independent of the pile of rocks: things like glass, bits of plastic, or a steel nut or two. Then the next night, they’d either shift around or be gone.

Jim took pictures of everything, no matter how insignificant. His archive of findings was growing exponentially, and to anyone else looking at the gallery of seemingly pointless images, they’d think it was just a ton of nonsense. But for him, they were proof that he wasn’t insane, and that there was _definitely_ strange activity around Arcadia.

Yet somehow, despite his nightly wanderings and stark vigilance, he had yet to come face-to-face with another one of those creatures. For something so big, they were incredibly talented at staying hidden.

He idly scrolled through the pictures, barely sparing any a glance before moving on to the next. Honestly, the whole mystery was really starting to wear on him. It was maddening knowing there was something lurking out there and he couldn’t catch up, no matter how hard he tried. He almost hoped for another run-in with one just for some excitement.

Almost. Most of him hoped he never saw one again.

Toby’s voice snapped him out of that train of thought. “Aha! _En garde,_ Sir James! Prove thee a worthy adversary!”

Jim had barely a second to throw himself to the side, barely evading Toby’s downward slice. He rolled to his feet with a scowl. “Wow, thanks for the heads up, Tobes.”

“These duels tend not be for the faint-hearted. Or doth thee quiver in thy boots?” Toby drew closer, sword raised, a wicked grin on his face.

“You know, I feel like your vernacular is from the wrong time period.”

“Oh my god, just pick up a sword and fight me already!” He swung at Jim, who leapt out of range. Jim whirled on his feet and lunged for the nearest sword—and there happened to be a small pile of them by Eli. He brought it up just in time to block Toby’s strike.

Eli groaned, exasperated. “You’re remaking those if you break them!” The boys ignored him as they hacked away at each other, taunting and swearing and laughing with every blow, parry, or miss. Jim’s defense was tight—Toby couldn’t seem to find an opening, and that was mostly due to Jim’s sharper eyes and impossibly-quick reflexes. But when Toby swiped at his ankles, his balance was upset and he staggered enough for a hit to land.

“Toby!” Jim cried in outrage as the blade left a gleaming streak of silver on his shirt. “That one’s not even finished drying!”

“Probably shoulda blocked it then, I don’t know,” Toby teased. He shrieked and ran in the opposite direction when Jim charged at him.

Steve burst through the curtain looking like he was on a mission, pausing only to watch Jim beat Toby over the head with a cardboard sword. “What are you losers doing _now?”_

“Earning my knighthood,” Jim grunted as he smeared the wet blade across Toby’s face, much to the boy’s _immense_ displeasure. Now they were both war-torn and covered in paint. Steve rolled his eyes with a scoff and muttered something nasty under his breath as he resumed his march up to Eli.

“Yo, Pepperjack. When do I get _my_ weapon?”

Eli peered up at the bigger kid nervously. “Uh, well. The swords aren’t really marked for anyone’s specific use—”

“What? I’m not using a sword! Swords are for wimps. _See?”_ Steve pointed at Jim and Toby, whom exchanged annoyed glances. “I deserve something cooler—like an axe! Make me an axe.”

“I don’t think Ms. Janeth would approve—”

“I think I’d beat Steve in a sword fight,” Jim loudly declared to Toby. “What do you think?”

“You know, I think I’m gonna have to agree with you,” Toby answered thoughtfully, equally as loud. “Not that you’d ever find out, since he’s above using such a meek form of arms.”

“But Steve would _never_ turn down a challenge. Unless he’s scared?”

Steve growled, turning to face Jim and squaring his shoulders. Jim smirked, which only made to infuriate the boy further. Toby seemed to lose confidence because he shrunk back a little.

“What are we doing here, Jimbo?” he sang nervously under his breath.

“You think cause you got lucky in basketball that you’re a master fencer now, too?” Steve sneered. Eli yelped as Steve suddenly swiped a sword from his pile, knocking the rest to the floor. He prowled closer with blade in hand, looking very much like he intended to turn the prop into a real weapon.

Then he jerked to a stop as Claire jumped in out of nowhere, fuming. “You’re more than welcome to flaunt your stupid male dominance mentality out on the field, but _here?_ The stage is a place for art and passion, and if all you can bring is your boorish temper, then you might as well sit your ass out and let someone with a shred of self-control take your role. And the bench isn’t a very good place for a king, now is it?”

Thankfully, Jim was too shocked to applaud how she made Steve’s shoulders hunch in submission. The blond boy pouted and begrudgingly tossed the sword to the floor, having been effectively chastised out of his enraged state.

“I’m the king,” he muttered to himself bitterly. “I’m the king. It’s me.”

Satisfied, Claire grabbed Jim’s hand and dragged him away to safety, Toby closely in tow. Steve watched them abscond with a scowl.

“If you want, I can probably bejewel the hilt so your sword looks more regal—”

“Oh, give it a _rest,_ Pepperjack!”

Claire lead them to a less crowded corner of the stage before finally releasing Jim. “I’m glad you guys came to lend a hand, but antagonizing Steve isn’t the most productive way to do it.”

“Yeah, are you _nuts?”_ Toby asked Jim incredulously. “Are you trying to get Steve on your case?”

“You were doing it too, Tobes,” he said drily.

“I thought we were joking! _You_ actually invited him over to fight.”

“For Ms. Janeth’s sanity, let’s try to keep the fighting to a _minimum,”_ Claire said. “That means ignoring Steve and treating the props with a little more respect.”

Jim smiled guiltily and rubbed at his neck. “Sorry. Having too much fun, I guess.”

Her expression softened, and after a moment she gave up on being irritated entirely. “Well, at least you’re having fun. Does that mean you’ll come back tomorrow?”

“Shoot, if he doesn’t, _I_ sure will,” Toby answered first. “Maybe I can convince Eli to build me a war hammer.”

“I don’t see why not,” Jim shrugged. Then he tensed as he remembered something. “Oh, f—what time is it?” He didn’t wait for an answer before scrabbling for his phone and checking the time. It was almost seven, which was _really_ toeing the line. Alarmed, he broke away from Claire and Toby to grab his bag and head for the exit. He waved at their incredulous faces, “See you guys tomorrow!”

He was already pushing the door open when he heard Claire call after him. Against his better judgment, he paused and turned back to find her hurrying after him. He glanced past the door and his heart stuttered from how pink the sky was, but somehow, he found the willpower to keep his feet rooted in place.

“I know you’re in a hurry, so I’ll make this quick,” she said once she’d caught up. Her face was pinched with mild concern, and it was obvious she wasn’t trying to acknowledge his panicked behavior. “Give me your phone.”

The demand was random enough to catch him off guard and he frowned. “What?”

“Let me have your phone so I can put my number in it.”

_Oh._ Numbly, Jim pulled it out and unlocked it before handing it to her. He watched her pull up his contacts and quickly insert herself. Then she handed it back.

“If you ever need a ride or just someone to talk to about—you know—feel free to hit me up.”

Claire waved at him before heading back to the stage. Jim could only stare, dazed, as his brain tried to process that unexpected thing that just happened. Then he remembered himself and shoved his way out the door in a rush.

Overall, the day had actually been pretty amazing. Now he just had to survive another boring night.

Immediately, he missed the company of his friends. He almost wanted to climb through the vents and hide in the balcony again just to watch the chaos unfold below, but he knew it would only make his heart ache. At least he had Claire to fill him in on what he was missing—already she was texting him, sending him updates on Toby’s crusade, which had apparently failed to lessen despite his absence. Leave it to Toby to be a spectacle when he wanted to.

He hurried home and changed into something more comfortable. His transformations were getting easier—faster, less painful. As if his body was finally getting used to the routine changes. It was still a pretty horrible experience but at least it wasn’t as bad as it’d been at first. Consequently, he felt less shitty during the day, and his nights kicked off quicker.

And his nights _always_ started in the same place: at the bridge. The canals showed the most consistent signs of activity of anywhere in Arcadia; including faint, strange scents he couldn’t recognize. He didn’t expect much out of the bridge—its shadows never yielded any more answers than the night previous—but it was as best a place to start as any before the night led him elsewhere.

Needless to say, Jim was surprised when he spotted an abandoned bike parked at the other end of the bridge, leaned up against the siderail. With a curious frown, he peered closer, and his ears twitched as a familiar voice sounded from below. He glanced over the railing and, sure enough, spotted a friendly face in the shadows digging through the pile of shattered rock that’d sat there for weeks.

So, Toby had managed to beat him to the bridge. He must be getting faster at biking after all.

With a sly smile, Jim hopped over the railing and dropped, using his claws to swing into the shadows of the bridge’s underbelly and land silently on a beam. He crawled closer before lying on his stomach, watching and listening to the boy mutter to himself about Feldspar and his rock collection.

Maybe he should find an excuse to usher Toby from beneath the bridge—but the canals had been deserted for weeks. There was no threat to be wary of, and even if there was, Jim was keeping a watchful eye from above. So, for now, he lounged peacefully in the shadows while observing his best friend nerd out over a scattered heap of sediment.

Toby exclaimed as he picked up a particular chunk and held it up for scrutiny under his phone’s light. He grinned before stuffing it in his backpack and returning to digging.

Something changed in the air—it was extremely subtle, but enough to set Jim’s hackles on end. Instantly, he was on alert, and he listened intently for any sound, sharp eyes scanning the darkness. He detected nothing, but his instincts still screamed, and they told him only one thing.

_Danger._

And then he saw it—a set of glimmering orbs hiding deep, _deep_ in the bridge’s shadows, watching the stumpy boy kick through stone. Those were _not_ there before.

Toby didn’t notice a single thing out of place.

_“No,”_ Jim breathed, feeling his stomach drop. His ears folded at the rumbling growl that rolled through the canals, sending an icy tremor down his spine. Toby must have noticed it too because he paused and glanced around.

Then a deafening bellow exploded from the shadows and the creature stormed out of its hiding place, horns lowered as it charged. Toby whirled and screamed in terror, stumbling over rocks as he quickly backpedaled and fell. He only had enough time to raise his arms and brace for the impending blow before it was upon him.

Instinct kicked in. Jim launched himself forward with a furious roar and dropped right on top of the monster’s head. Gravity sent them both crashing to the ground and he rolled to a stop several yards away. The monster did the same, but in the opposite direction. Jim quickly leapt to his feet and placed himself between Toby and the beast, teeth bared and poised for a fight.

The air around him shimmered red and he glanced down to find the grooves in his skin _glowing—_ a brilliant crimson that flared to match the fury inside him, tracing along the patterns on his arms and disappearing in the sleeves of his shirt.

_That’s_ new.

The monster snorted at him, broad and massive and trembling with anger. Jim answered it with a fierce growl of his own and lowered his horns threateningly. This was _not_ the monster that’d tried to kill him. The silhouette was completely different, with straighter horns and a much stouter build. The eyes were wrong; the way it carried itself didn’t match; and it wasn’t black.

How _many_ of them were there?

The monster shook its head with a roar and charged like a barreling train of muscle and stone.

Jim faltered—he wasn’t so sure about his plan anymore.

_“Run, Toby!”_ he screamed over his shoulder and just managed to sidestep the fist that came crashing down with enough force to crack the cement. The beast swung at him again and Jim ducked beneath the trunk-like arm before retaliating with a punch of his own.

It was completely on reflex but he struck the creature right in the nose and sent it staggering back with a pained snarl. He couldn’t marvel at his own power for long—the monster recovered almost immediately.

This thing moved _impossibly_ fast for its size. Jim, for all the awesome new things he could do with his new body, barely avoided being flattened. But he also succeeded in keeping the monster’s attention as Toby scrambled back up the slope to safety. Jim watched his friend disappear and felt the cold rush of utter relief beneath his desperate frenzy.

The distraction cost him. The monster reared back and slammed its horns against his head, making him crumple as pain exploded in his skull. He was powerless to stop the follow-up kick that sent him flying.

Jim hit the ground with a grunt and hissed as he slid to a stop, a terrible ache pounding in his ribs where he’d been hit. He staggered to his feet, holding his side, and only had a fraction of a second to react to the monster’s fists arcing down, already upon him.

His body reacted on its own and he _caught_ the blows in his own hands and pushed back, _straining_ with all his inhuman might, locking them in a deadly stalemate. His feet scraped noisily as he slipped further with every heave against him. The brute growled and huffed and Jim grimaced as rancid breath burned his nose, threatening to offset his focus.

He wasn’t expecting to be suddenly yanked in the opposite direction. The beast slammed him into the ground, the impact so forceful he bounced once before lying still. He lay there, dazed. Hurting. Everything hurt so _bad._ Jim, with a weak groan, _tried_ to push himself up, but his arms trembled too fiercely and he collapsed back onto his stomach.

Massive hands wrapped around his ankles and he clawed at the ground for purchase as he was dragged back, cutting deep gouges into cement, but it was futile. The creature twisted and tossed him through the air like a frisbee.

His vision flashed as he hit the wall hard enough for it to spiderweb. He must not remember hitting the ground, cause the next thing he knew, there was something firm and cool against his face and he was tasting dust. He heard the monster roar somewhere—it sounded muted, like he was underwater.

Jim wheezed, struggling to draw breath, as he slowly willed himself to his knees, battling with every part of his body to obey. The grooves in his skin were dark, no longer glowing their furious red.

He had to keep going. He had to stand—had to _fight_ —had to protect his friend.

Jim used the wall to help find his footing. The whole world was spinning and out of focus. His feet were clumsy and his body threatened to teeter over, but he forced himself to remain upright. To face his opponent. The monster launched itself forward and charged.

Was this how he died?

It drew closer; teeth gnashing, horns lowered, fist raising, _almost on top of him—_

Jim snapped to his senses and _threw_ himself out of the way just in time to avoid being punched straight through. He grunted as he painfully hit the ground, tumbling to a stop and glancing over his shoulder to find the beast with its arm halfway embedded in the wall.

It was stuck. The furious howls and hard jerks of its body as it tried to dislodge made that apparent. Jim didn’t waste any more time watching and clambered up the slope, raging bellows chasing after him.

He ran. He _ran_ far away, taking him as far as his legs would carry him. Up the streets of Arcadia and into the isolation of the forest where there were no eyes.

Ran until the adrenaline wore off and the pain caught up with him and his knees gave out.

Jim collapsed hard into the dirt, his entire body throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He choked on his misery, arms wrapped around his middle as he writhed on the ground, wondering, with some concern, if anything was broken. Because at that moment, _everything_ felt like it was broken.

“Damn, it, Tobes,” Jim coughed wetly, tasting iron on his tongue. “God _damn_ it, Tobes.”

Just his luck that this would be how his amazing day ended. But . . . at least _Toby was alive._ If he hadn’t been there, it might have ended so much worse. Arcadia could have woken to a terrible aftermath in the morning, and the blood would be on Jim’s hands for failing to stop the _one thing_ he swore to prevent.

He almost lost his best friend tonight. He almost lost _his_ life tonight— _again._

And of all the awful things Jim considered, the most sobering was the fact that, despite his own altered state, he was still _very_ vulnerable against these creatures. He’d managed—what—a single hit against that beast?

Warmth ran thick down his chin as he sputtered, his breaths coming in short, erratic gasps that sent piercing shocks of pain through his chest. He wiped his arm across his mouth and stared at the crimson blood smeared over his cool, indigo skin.

He wasn’t nearly as strong as he’d hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a bit of a slow ride so far but this is where the plot starts to pick up from. get ready for some real troll hours
> 
> it's labor day weekend which means i have monday off and i'll have more time to spend editing the next couple chapters. does that mean i'll post early? fuck no! but it should mean i'll actually upload on time for once :D
> 
> *edit* YO this >> Cakeleigh << attractive and courageous soul drew fanart of this chapter! i stan you dude!!! paste that url and check that shit out!!!
> 
> https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/756647237630689281/756647283130368020/tumblr_9d30ca44053a7888f32a751a13245ee1_23641d80_1280.jpg


	8. The World Beneath Arcadia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toby isn't taking his near-death experience too well and Jim discovers something that shifts his perspective entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sup gamers told you i'd upload on time this week
> 
> okay technically it's still friday for me. literally could have uploaded this hours ago but idk just dragged my feet today lol. work make me tired :(
> 
> also worth mentioning is um i love this chapter. this chapter and the next are some of my favorites i've written so far

Jim learned something fun about his transformations.

The form he took at night was a dramatic change from his normal self, and quite a painful transition as a result. But, because his body hardened into—well, _that—_ it usually mended any physical traumas he’d sustained during the day. Say, a paper cut. Or a fractured radius.

It didn’t work the other way around. At _all._

Jim tried _so hard_ to pay attention to what Mr. Strickler was saying about the Napoleonic Wars, but the stabbing pain in his back was _killing_ him. That knock with the canal wall really did a number on his spine. He was lucky he hadn’t been human at the time or his entire skeleton would have shattered on impact, most likely—if everything preceding that hadn’t already killed him by then.

The bell rang and Mr. Strickler wrapped up his lecture before dismissing the class. Jim stiffly packed away his textbook and glanced at Toby, who was still zoned out, staring at something a thousand miles away in his own head, looking haunted. He’d been like that all morning. Jim knew it was because of what happened the night before, but . . . Toby hadn’t said a word to him about the incident.

He’d expected the entire story to be spilled the instant they met up to ride to school, but he’d been met with complete silence. Not only that, but it looked as if Toby hadn’t gotten much sleep, if any. Jim couldn’t blame him—he’d probably also have nightmares following an encounter like that. Hell, he’d _had_ his own nightmares after his first time, and the only reason they’d stopped was because sleeping was no longer necessary.

“Tobes, you still with me?” Jim waved his hand in front of Toby’s face and the other boy finally snapped out of it.

“Huh? What? Wh—did you say something?”

“Class is over, man.”

“Oh.” Toby peered around the emptying classroom like he’d just then noticed where he was. Shaking his head, he loaded up his supplies and hopped out of his seat before ambling out of the room on autopilot, not sparing a single glance back to see if Jim was following.

Which, Jim wasn’t. Movement was not easy at the moment. He watched Toby leave from his desk, worry gnawing at his gut.

“Is he okay?” a voice sounded to his side and he glanced up to find Claire standing nearby, holding her bag and staring after where Toby had disappeared. “He seems a bit out of character today.”

“I think it’s the stress of midterms,” Jim lied with a shrug.

“But midterms aren’t for another couple weeks.”

“Good to start panicking early, right? That’s what my mom likes to say.” Jim braced his hands on his desk and chair and grunted in discomfort as he arduously pushed himself to his feet. It still hurt to breathe, but thankfully his more fortified other self prevented worse damage from being done on the inside. At the very least, he was confident he wasn’t dying.

He felt Claire place a steadying hand on his shoulder when he faltered. “Are _you_ okay?”

Jim gave her a tight smile. “Yeah, I just. Think I might have pulled something.” _Or everything._ “Like in gym class maybe. I’ll be fine after today—though, I don’t think I can make it to the rehearsal tonight.”

“That’s totally fine. We’ll catch up later.” She bumped his fist when he offered it. “Feel better soon.”

He laughed weakly as she left before hanging his head with a sigh. He’d feel better after he transformed, he just had to make it through the day first. No problem. Shouldering his backpack with a grimace, he slowly limped for the door to catch up with Toby.

_“There_ you are!” Mary exclaimed as she suddenly stuck her head in, making Jim recoil with a yelp. She didn’t seem to notice him pull a face as she said, “I’ve been trying to get you alone _all_ week!”

“Uh,” Jim stammered, a little put off. He quickly moved out of the way when she burst in and shut the door behind her, cutting them off from the noise of the hallway. She pulled two strips of paper from her pocket and brandished them in front of his face.

_“These_ are tickets to Papa Skull’s concert next weekend. I was like, one of the last people to get some before they sold out and my plan was to go with Darci but she’s flaking on me because she has, like, a family thing at the same time so then I _was_ gonna take Claire but now _I’ve_ got a date with a guy from the other school—you know Arcadia Oaks Academy? The boys there are _fine.”_

Jim gaped as Mary rambled. He was so focused on making sense of her spiel that he started when she suddenly shoved the tickets into his hands.

“So these are for you. See where I’m going with this?”

“Um.”

Mary rolled her eyes with a scoff. “Ask _Claire_ to go to the concert with you! Papa Skull’s like, her _favorite_ band and she was totally bummed when they sold out before she could get a ticket.”

His brain short-circuited. “Wait, you want me to . . . are you _telling_ me to ask Claire out?”

“Ugh, boys are so _dumb,”_ she whined. “Listen up, Lake. Claire likes you. I mean _likes_ you—but you didn’t hear that from me. Or anyone, actually, because if she finds out _you_ know, _she’ll_ know that _I_ blabbed.” Mary crossed her arms and smiled pompously. “There’s no secrets between us. I even know you’re weird about being out after dark, but don’t worry, the concert’s at noon. Some fundraiser for the city? I don’t know, but you lucked out.”

Jim stared at the tickets he now held, taking in the vivid colors and logos and event details. He wasn’t familiar with the band or even really cared for the genre, but . . . spending an afternoon alone with Claire without any sort of obligation to school sounded like a miracle handed to him.

Which, he supposed it was.

“Mary, I don’t know how to even begin thanking you,” he said as an appreciative grin split his face.

“You don’t have to,” she replied with a friendly slap to the back—Jim had to bite his tongue to keep from flinching. “I’m doing this for Claire, just so we’re clear. _You_ still have to earn my trust, so don’t screw this up and _don’t_ tell her where those tickets came from. Do either of those things and I’ll kill you.”

Mary threw open the door and disappeared into the hall, leaving a bewildered Jim behind.

Well, that happened. This must be the universe’s way of making up for all the horrible shit he’d dealt with over the last few weeks. Could he even _manage_ the courage to ask her? His insides were a mess of bubbling happiness and wracked nerves.

But it was all suddenly drowned out by overwhelming guilt as soon as he remembered Toby. He sighed. Claire would have to wait—there was something more immediately important that needed tending to. Jim stuck the tickets in his backpack and went to find his friend.

“Everything good, Tobes?” he asked when he finally caught up to the shorter boy, who was staring numbly into his open locker. The sound of Jim’s voice jerked him from his trance.

“Yeah, of course! Everything’s fine,” he laughed nervously. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Cause you’ve been conked out all morning. If something’s wrong, maybe I can help.”

“I’m fine, Jim. Really. Just had a crazy night at rehearsal.”

“Hey—”

Toby pointedly slammed his locker shut and Jim took that as his cue to drop the subject. He followed silently while Toby shuffled along, staring at his shoes. He had no right to prod for Toby’s issues. He couldn’t even trust _himself_ to bring up what _he_ went through every night, so why should he expect Toby to be the exception?

But it was odd that his best friend hadn’t revealed anything. Toby had never been one to keep secrets. It only troubled Jim further.

“Jesus, Domzalski, who died—?”

“Not now, Steve,” Jim said dryly as he blocked the empty-headed jock’s line of sight to Toby with his body as they passed. Steve scoffed in surprise, not used to being blown off so readily. Jim didn’t care–the last thing Toby needed right now was provocation, and the lingering pain from the night previous didn’t have him in the greatest of moods either.

“Hey! It was just a question!” Steve hurried to catch up and stepped in front of Jim, jabbing a finger at him. “I don’t get your deal, Lake. You’ve been just another wimp all through high school, and suddenly you act so tough and now Claire’s all over you. You got some special secret powers? Was that bear _magic_ or something?”

Jim glowered, his patience rapidly thinning. “Shit changes sometimes. Get over it. Maybe you’ll luck out and mature past the mindset of a middle-schooler one of these days.” He shoved past Steve instead of sticking around to appreciate the boy’s slacked jaw. He ushered a nervous Toby along as they headed for the gymnasium.

A hand came down hard on his shoulder and fingers curled viciously into his jacket. “Say that again, I dare—”

Jim twisted around and wrenched Steve’s arm off before roughly slamming the taller boy face first into the lockers, snagging the attention of everyone nearby. He had Steve firmly pinned with a strength he wasn’t normally capable of, and the taller boy seemed to realize this upon trying to wiggle free—unsuccessfully.

“Choose another day to pick on people smaller than you,” Jim hissed in warning by his ear. “But right now, do _not_ fuck with me.”

He released Steve, who dropped to his knees in shock. Jim tried to ignore the ache in his back and chest, as well as the awestruck expression Toby sent his way. He placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder to lead him away from the curious stares of students.

“Well, that was wild,” came Toby’s tentative voice. Jim glanced down and found Toby watching him with some concern. “You, uh. Really handled that back there. You know, you’ve been acting kinda strange lately.”

“Strange? How have I been strange?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You’ve just been kind of . . . I guess, different? Like, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you react like that to _anyone_ ,” he said with a weak chuckle. “Maybe _I’m_ the one who should be asking _you_ if everything’s okay.”

Jim sighed wearily. “Good as I’ll ever be, Tobes.”

* * *

The pile of rocks was gone.

Jim had been tentative to return to the bridge after what happened with Toby, but his sense of determination pushed him to check for any more lurking dangers, just to be safe. There were no signs of any life in the canals, monstrous or otherwise, but the most surprising thing was that someone—or something—had taken care to completely remove the pile after all this time.

Not a single pebble was left behind.

The cat from the café sat perched on the railing above, idly watching him as he kicked at litter in the bridge’s shadow.

Toby hadn’t attended rehearsals since the first night. He always went straight home after school and fell radio silent. Jim periodically texted him to check up, but the replies were always one-word assurances. Even Claire noticed enough to start worrying, and playing stagehand wasn’t the same without his brother-in-arms.

It left him feeling hollow, yet filled with overwhelming guilt at the same time.

His nights were back to being empty and eventless. Naturally, the beast that’d gone after Toby was long gone, keeping with the pattern of these things’ tendency to hit and run, apparently. Jim was no longer eager to discover any more unusual things and mostly kept to himself, often walking aimlessly through town or end up perched on a roof somewhere and doing homework until he either gave up or the sky started to pink.

He really missed being able to sleep.

Jim knocked a crushed soda can aside with his foot, listening to it bounce in the dirt. He was near the town’s junkyard—a place of crude wonder with its towers of crushed cars that stretched for the sky. An interesting place to be, but not one he hadn’t visited before. Often during his bored streaks he’d end up at the junkyard because sometimes there were new things to discover. Mostly just broken cars and useless trash, but it was a way to pass the time. Honestly, he had plenty of homework to do back home, but he was in a limbo state of boredom where he was itching to occupy himself and lacking any motivation to follow through.

It was going to be a long year if he couldn’t find a solution.

As if on cue, his ears twitched—the clinking sounds of metal and plastic rang quietly through the air. He paused, trying to decipher where it’d came from, and when he heard it again his ears swiveled to point him in the right direction. Jim prowled low to the ground, noiselessly stepping over the strewn, rusted guts of automobiles and other random junk as his curiosity drove him forward.

Something clanged loudly and he dropped to all fours, belly nearly on the ground, tensed. The only time he’d ever seen activity in the junkyard at this hour was when he’d nearly ran into a group of drunk college students trespassing for a thrill, and he didn’t want to chance spooking them if they were out for a second round. Silently, he crept forward and pressed up against a stack of old oil drums, listening to the shuffling on the other side. He peeked around the corner and caught a glimpse of glowing eyes.

He pulled back in shock, heart hammering in his throat. One of them was _here?_ It couldn’t do much damage in the deserted junkyard, but if it happened to wander into Arcadia . . .

No, not happening. Toby was already a close call. He would not let another soul be hurt by these monsters, no matter how afraid he was. Twice he’d encountered them—once as a human, and once as one of _them._ He knew what they were capable of now. He knew what to expect.

With a snarl, Jim vaulted over the drums—

—and froze in place.

This . . . _thing_ had _six eyes._ It was looking at him like it was startled, paused in its task. There were horns on its head, and . . . large tusks that poked from its mouth; skin made of stone . . . all like him.

It checked out, so Jim knew it was the same type of creature. But it hardly looked threatening either. Compared to what Jim had seen so far, this one was relatively short, so that even he nearly matched it in height. It sported a pair of stubby legs and two feeble sets of arms that it’d been using to inspect old mechanical parts. It didn’t even look like it had claws. And it was blue—even bluer than he was—and wearing suspenders and carrying a bag.

Then its face pinched in anger. _“What_ do you think you’re doing above ground?!”

Jim stumbled back in surprise, because the last thing he’d expected was intelligent words pouring out of this thing’s mouth. His back was met with solid resistance and he turned around to find himself face-to-face with an absolute _behemoth_ of shaggy hair and large teeth.

_This_ one definitely looked threatening.

But it only regarded him curiously before giving him a toothy grin. “Hi,” it rumbled in a deep voice.

Jim leapt away with a terrified yelp and tried to run, but he was suddenly scooped up by a massive hand and crushed to the huge creature’s chest, pinned by a tree trunk of an arm. He growled as he tried wiggling out of its hold, then clawed at its skin, desperate to break free.

“He tickles,” the brute said with an amused chuckle, unfazed by Jim’s thrashing. “Like gnome.”

The four-armed one dropped everything he’d been holding with a loud clatter and marched up to Jim with a finger raised in warning, to which Jim shrunk away from. “You’re in a heap of trouble, lad.”

“Youngling,” the big one grumbled.

“So it seems. A youngling waltzing around on the surface _unsupervised!_ And in violation of lockdown! Why aren’t you down in Trollmarket?”

_“What-_ market?” Jim sputtered.

“Wet market?”

“He said, _what_ market, Aaarrrgghh. As if he doesn’t know about the only _market_ this side of the country,” the blue one said wryly. Its voice was boldly masculine, rich with age, and it talked with a sophisticated lilt—which was _really_ confounding.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! Let me _go—!”_

“Oh, we’ll release you, alright! Just as soon as we take you back down to Trollmarket and get you properly accounted for!”

Jim felt ice flood his veins. Take him _where?_ He didn’t know what the _hell_ this thing was talking about but he knew he didn’t want to chance finding out. Panicking, Jim sunk his teeth into the brute’s arm and bit down as _hard_ as he could, feeling pain shoot up his gums but too scared to care. The brute flinched with an unhappy moan and gave _just_ enough slack for Jim’s lithe form to slip out of its hold and bolt for freedom.

“He’s fast.”

“Don’t let him get away!”

Jim was already vaulting the junkyard’s fence by the time the blue one’s shouting voice reached his ears. He sprinted down the hill and threw himself into the trees, rushing for the lights of Arcadia.

What the actual _hell_ was going _on?!_ First, he’s almost killed by a creature trying to eat him, then he’s almost crushed to death by another that tried to kill his best friend, and _now . . ._

He was being reprimanded by two more?

Jim slowed as he neared the sleeping town, staying far enough away from its limits until he was certain he’d lost his pursuers. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he perked up his ears and listened, but the only thing he could hear was the deafening pounding of his own heart.

Which was probably why he didn’t hear the beating footsteps quickly approaching from behind.

“Gotcha!”

Jim whipped around with a shocked gasp just as a huge hand shoved him to the ground and pinned him into the dirt. There was no chance of breaking free this time; instead Jim just lay still, growling savagely as he eyed the big brute gazing down at him.

Its ears lowered and it cocked its head, humming thoughtfully.

“Aha! You caught the whelp!” came the blue one’s approaching voice along with the sound of jingling metal. A moment later it drew up beside them both, wheezing. “This . . . could have gone _much_ easier . . . but you just _had_ to make it difficult.”

“Buzz off, gramps! I haven’t done anything to you! What do you _want_ with me?!” Jim barked through bared teeth.

The blue creature straightened and cleared its throat. “I _want_ to take you back down to Trollmarket where you belong! It only takes one careless troll to alert all of Arcadia to our presence.”

_“Troll?!”_

“Where are your parents? Do they know you’re gallivanting around the surface without a chaperone?”

Jim froze when the brute sniffed just over his head, its massive nose creating a small vacuum of air as its nostrils flared. “Smell human,” it said.

“Human?”

It sniffed again. “Smell _lots_ of humans. No troll.”

Jim felt like his heart stopped. The blue one moved closer and lowered itself to its knees, setting aside its bag. When it spoke, its voice was surprisingly soft, “How long have you been up here?”

“W-what does it matter?”

The big one tugged at his shirt sleeve. “Human clothes.”

“Do you . . . _have_ parents?” the blue one asked, and there was no longer any trace of anger in its voice. Jim only stared, not sure if he should try lying to preserve his identity or tell the truth and risk a less than ideal outcome.

“Orphan,” the brute rumbled sadly.

“I think you may be correct, my friend. No wonder he’s alone on the surface.”

“Wait . . . what?” Jim asked, hopelessly confused.

“No need to be alarmed. My sizeable friend here has an unusually heightened sense of smell—if _he_ can’t smell other trolls on you, then, well. The conclusion is obvious. But we won't think any less of you. In fact, we’re willing to help.”

Jim was completely nonplussed. Slack jawed, even, as his gaze flicked between the two.

“Do you truly have no knowledge of Trollmarket?” Jim shook his head slowly. “Well, then we’ll leave at once! Dawn is in—” It whipped out some sort of glowing pocket-watch from one of its many pouches and peered at it closely, the ruby red reflected in its many eyes. “—a few hours, and it’s always best to return early. Aaarrrgghh, carry him, would you?”

Jim blanched as he was lifted off the ground and thrown over the brute’s shoulder. _“What?”_

“Ha! You didn’t think we were going to allow an orphaned whelp run freely around town during lockdown, did you? Our kind has rules, and all must follow them. Including yourself!”

“Safety,” the brute said.

“Precisely. For our safety. And yours.”

Jim glanced around wildly, looking for help, for something to set him free—anything. But there was nothing, and the brute gave no indication to even feeling his pounding hands.

“Would you stop struggling?” the blue one scolded him, trailing closely behind. “You’ve nothing to fear. There’s no safer place for a troll than Heartstone Trollmarket.”

Jim gave up trying to wiggle away and flopped down on the brute’s moss-green fur with a huff, his chin in hand as he met the blue one’s sextuple gaze. “What is Trollmarket, exactly?”

“I still can’t believe you’ve never heard of it. What troll has never heard of Trollmarket?” it chuckled. “You must not be from around here. Where are you from?”

“Umm . . . east coast?”

“Ah! You must hail from New Jersey!”

“. . . Sure.”

“What are they teaching you whelps over there? Not proper culture, that much is clear. Atrocious.” It shook its head, muttering in distaste. “But there’s plenty to learn where we’re going! I am Blinky—”

“Blinky,” Jim parroted.

“—and my loyal companion here is Aaarrrgghh—”

“Three R’s,” Aaarrrgghh added.

“—and Trollmarket is our home. Home and haven to all trolls.”

If Jim wasn’t reeling from all the startling information he was being fed, he’d probably take a moment to appreciate the hilarious absurdity of these creatures’ names. As it was, though, he was struggling to process everything. This was a _huge_ turn from the vicious, murderous shadows he’d come to think of them as.

“So, let me get this straight,” Jim said. “You’re _trolls?”_

The blue one—Blinky, he supposed—gave him a look of bewilderment. Then, Blinky laughed. “Ha! We picked up a real comedian, didn’t we, Aaarrrgghh?”

“Good humored,” he heard Aaarrrgghh say. “Funny.”

“Indeed. Of course we’re trolls, whelp. What else would we be? Gruesomes? Goblins? Golems?”

“Uh . . . oh my?”

Blinky hummed and regarded him curiously. “You’re quite a strange one. What is your name?”

“. . . Jim,” he answered truthfully. It seemed harmless enough.

“Jim,” the troll repeated, testing the name. “That’s an unusual name for a troll. Our eastern neighbors are ever the odd ones.”

They fell into silence and the only sound that accompanied them was the rustle of the wind in the trees, the heavy footsteps of the two trolls, and the soft clinking of metal from Blinky’s bag. It was almost soothing—the rhythmic rocking of Aaarrrgghh’s shoulders as he sauntered along lulled Jim into a state of calm.

But a part of him was still very much freaking out.

Recognition registered in his mind and Jim glanced around, identifying the area as being not too far from his house. Aaarrrgghh suddenly shifted to accommodate a steep incline and Jim twisted around to see the bridge looming nearby. The cat was gone.

“The canals,” he said and Aaarrrgghh hummed in agreement.

“That’s right,” came Blinky’s response as he carefully picked his way down the slope. “This wonderful town plays a vital role of veiling to our great society.”

“What does that mean?”

He flashed a smile. “It means Trollmarket resides right beneath Arcadia.”

The deep shadow of the bridge enveloped them as they passed under and Jim’s hackles raised as all of his bad associations with the place rushed him at once. Blinky took the lead and strolled up to the canal wall—he reached back into a pouch on his hip and whipped out something small that pulsed with a soft orange light. In one swift, practiced motion, he carved out a perfect semi-circle in the wall.

Blinky placed his palm in the center of his drawing and the cement collapsed inwards with a flash of bright blue light. What remained was a glowing tunnel, bathing them in brilliant cerulean.

Jim held his breath, entranced. There was no way this was real—if only because the concept of trolls living under a bridge was way too convenient. But there was clearly some grand power at work here that he didn’t understand and he found himself petrified with wonder as he was carried into the tunnel.

Once they’d passed, the wall reformed behind them as if it’d never been touched.

“Whoa,” he breathed.

“The marvel of Trollmarket’s security,” Blinky said from the front. “These magical barriers are the dividing factor between Trollmarket and Arcadia. They keep out those that might do us harm, we stay safe and hidden, and the humans are never the wiser. I think you’ll learn to like it here.”

Jim didn’t respond. With the way they’d come now barred, Aaarrrgghh released him to use both hands to support his descent down a series of massive glowing crystals that winded down into the earth like a staircase. Jim, now free, merely shifted around so he could face forward, clutching at Aaarrrgghh’s thick mane as he peered over the side and down into the depths.

When they finally reached the bottom, the cave opened up, and Jim shrunk behind Aaarrrgghh’s shoulder as the lumbering troll carried him out into a massive cavern filled with lights, structures, winding pathways—and bustling with life.

Jim gaped in shocked awe.

There were . . . _hundreds_ of them.

“Welcome,” Blinky announced with a flourish, “to Heartstone Trollmarket.”

Worthy words were difficult to find to describe the beauty laid out before him. Hundreds of glowing geodes of varying sizes dotted the cavern walls, casting the underground city in a dazzling array of colors and light. Countless caves and dwellings that stretched deep into the cavern were complimented with all forms of decoration—some had flickering neon signs and ghastly faces carved into rock, others had colorful tarps and drapes and awnings, and so many sported shiny trinkets that looked to be scavenged from the human world above.

And in the farthest reaches of the cavern, standing tall like a colossal monument above the bottomless pits of darkness, was the biggest crystal formation Jim had ever seen. Its light was ever reaching and the entire cavern seemed to bask in its radiant glow.

Blinky lead them down a flight of steps and onto the main path. “This settlement is the largest dwelling for trolls in existence. You won’t find a more diverse and equipped community anywhere in the world. The market has more to offer than you will ever exhaust in your lifetime,” Blinky explained proudly.

Trolls of varying shape and size meandered through the street, milling in and out of the many establishments, some speaking in plain English and others in a guttural tongue. Jim shrunk away from them, scared of being singled out, but none paid him any attention as they went about their business. As his eyes rose further, he discovered even _more_ strange things creeping above the establishments: little green imps that scurried along the rock walls, barking or laughing at one another while others peered mischievously down at the market below.

There were so many interesting smells and all sorts of exciting sounds that poured out of cave openings as they passed. Jim didn’t have enough time to marvel at one thing before another grabbed his attention. The savory scent of seared meat and something metallic hovered in the air. There was music, banter, and what sounded like . . . fighting?

Just as the thought occurred, a pair of burly trolls came crashing out of what looked like a tavern, horns thrashing and fists flying. Jim flattened himself against Aaarrrgghh in alarm, but hardly any of the strolling pedestrians spared the brawlers a second glance. Blinky and Aaarrrgghh simply maneuvered around them.

“It is also the safest,” Blinky added over the sounds of landing blows. Jim finally tore his eyes away and turned his attention to where Blinky was gesturing. He saw a handful of burly trolls with wicked spears marching through the street, the noisy clinking and grating of their black armor plates a persistent reminder of their presence.

Now that he noticed them, Jim realized they were all over. Many were stationed around the cavern, standing at attention, while others patrolled through the market in small packs. The troll equivalent to the police, maybe. Except these troll cops seemed to take their job very seriously, because none interacted with the market-goers as they passed through.

It was hard to comprehend that these creatures had such an organized society. It was almost painfully familiar—in kind of an alien sort of way—how the city behaved. These trolls clearly had livelihoods, and many seemed to enjoy the collecting of material possessions. They bartered and socialized. Hell, they even got into bar fights. It was hardly any different than wandering through downtown Arcadia on a Friday night.

He was so fixated on the massive pulsing gem at the end of the cavern he didn’t notice Blinky stop in front of a cave entrance. “Aaarrrgghh, if you would be so kind to take tonight’s haul and store it with the rest. I’ll take the whelp.”

Jim started when Aaarrrgghh suddenly reached behind and scooped him off his back before gently setting him down on the ground.

“Perhaps our bounty will be greater next time when we have less younglings to recover,” Blinky said with a teasing smile. He handed the large troll the jingling bag and Aaarrrgghh gave Jim a friendly nod before heading in the opposite direction.

Blinky placed a hand on Jim’s shoulders—four fingers, _just like him—_ and lead him through the cave’s mouth. “Orphaned trolls are uncommon down here, but not unheard of. I’m certain proper accommodations will be made.”

“Accommodations?” Jim muttered, not really paying attention. His eyes wandered hungrily as they entered a spacious room, digesting every detail with rapt curiosity. The cave was warmly lit by a suspended crystal—like a hanging brazier—and densely packed with shelves upon shelves of various books. Many were splayed over a stone table in the middle of the cave and others were scattered across other available surfaces.

“I do apologize—my cave’s always such a disaster.” Blinky rushed ahead and began grabbing books, attempting to tidy. “But, yes. Accommodations. A temporary mentor, most likely, who would provide housing and tutelage until you’re of appropriate age. How old are you, exactly?”

Jim was so busy looking down tunnels that lead into other rooms he almost didn’t hear the question. Unconsciously, he answered, “Seventeen.”

The following silence was deafening. Jim, realizing Blinky had stopped shuffling books, turned to find the troll staring at him with a look of utter confoundment.

Then he burst out laughing. “You _are_ quite the farceur!”

Jim shrunk a little, disconcerted. “Well . . . how old are _you?”_

Blinky waved him off and resumed shelving his books. “Ah, age is but a number. Liveliness is what defines a troll like me. Not a century goes by that I do not make worthwhile.”

Jim blinked. _Century?_

“But you don’t have to declare your age if you don’t want to. It’s not my business—I was only curious. You’re clearly capable of some level of independence, so my guess is . . . six hundred? Seven hundred?”

_“Years?”_

Blinky chuckled. “Of course. What else?”

Okay, now it was getting weird. If physical makeup wasn’t the biggest thing that set these creatures apart from humans, it was their apparent longevity.

Seriously! Adolescence was _seven hundred years?_ A single decade was already a painful stretch for being a teenager, but to be one for _centuries?_ Maybe even longer? He couldn’t imagine living seven hundred years, let alone that long as a _fucking teenager._

Looking for a distraction, Jim hopped onto the stone table and crouched over a book that was already open. The pictures were painted by hand, which was pretty cool. His eyes scanned the text on the page—also done by hand—but it was in a language he’d never seen before.

“Blinky, I have a question,” he asked after flipping through the book a bit and handing it to the four-armed troll. “What would happen if a human ever got in here?”

“Ah, well, that’s a good question. I presume they’d be eaten alive almost immediately.”

Cold fear crept into Jim’s veins like ice water. The monster that’d bitten him had most certainly been a troll. Had it succeeded in catching him, he was now certain he would have been devoured on the spot. Toby, too, probably, if he hadn’t been there to stop it. It was even possible, if not especially likely, that the one stalking Claire had been humoring the idea as well.

And those trolls probably lived down here. Worse, maybe _all_ trolls were that way, if given the opportunity.

“Not that a human has ever breached the barriers. But the question isn’t what would happen if a human got _in_ here, but rather what would happen if they were to get back _out.”_

Jim swallowed, dreading the answer. “What would happen?”

“Mass bloodshed. Arcadia’s existence serves a purpose to keep Trollmarket hidden, but it is the secrecy of Trollmarket from the surface that allows Arcadia to continue existing. Our king would do whatever it takes to protect us, and if the humans were to ever discover that we live right under their feet, he’d send his army to raze the town without hesitation. Arcadia would be ash.” He grinned brightly. “So not to worry! You won’t have to fear those pesky humans any longer.”

Blinky was blissfully unaware of the blazing panic brewing inside of his guest as he continued rearranging his books, humming quietly. Jim could hardly breathe—his heart was like gunshots in his ears. He barely even registered Blinky greeting Aaarrrgghh as the brute entered the cave.

“New cavemate,” the large troll declared happily, patting Jim on the back with enough force to knock him forward—and out of his paralysis.

With wild eyes, Jim quickly looked around before locating the little orange crystal slightly sticking out of one of Blinky’s pouches. He pounced off the table and knocked the old troll over before tearing the pouch off and grabbing it.

“Jim, what are you—?!” Blinky began before gasping. “Aaarrrgghh, he has the horngazel! Stop him!”

Jim jumped back onto the table and Aaarrrgghh reared onto his legs, ready to block his escape. Though, the big guy appeared quite conflicted. There weren’t a whole lot of options with Aaarrrgghh’s massive body blocking the tunnel, so Jim leapt onto the brute’s head and kicked off before bounding for the exit.

“Jim! Don’t go back to the surface! Trollmarket’s locked down for good reason!”

Blinky’s voice faded as the sounds of the market overtook it. Jim was in full flight mode and pure instinct blindly propelled him forward. Some of the trolls watched him curiously as he raced past, leaping over crates and carts and merchandise as he frantically tried to remember the way back to the surface.

“What’s he in a hurry for?”

“That a horngazel he got?”

“Whelp’s going for the surface.”

“Is he mad?”

He ignored the curious murmurs that followed him. Ahead was the exit to Trollmarket, but a few black-armored trolls noticed him and moved to block his path. They held out their hands in warning as they barked in a language he couldn’t understand.

Not that it would have mattered. Jim, much smaller than the troll cops, dropped to the ground and slid right under their crossed spears. He glanced over his shoulder—more armored trolls were running after him, shouting guttural words. Down the street was Aaarrrgghh racing to catch up, beckoning him to stop.

It felt like the whole world was hunting him down.

Jim sprinted up the cavern stairs and into the tunnel, bounded up the crystal staircase and stopped before the wall. He mimicked what he’d seen Blinky do—after drawing a big semi-circle, he pressed his palm to the stone. Harsh sounds of clinking armor echoed from below.

The wall crumbled and fell away. Jim leapt through the tunnel and breathed fresh air as he was embraced by the shadow of the bridge. The wall reformed behind him, and everything fell silent.

He ran as fast as his legs would allow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanna make it known that blinky is my favorite character in toa and also one of my top favorite characters in media ever. aaarrrgghh's pretty far up there too i'm a big fan of fred tatasciore's voice
> 
> really excited for next week's chapter can't wait to post it (on time) (and also earlier holy shit)
> 
> *edit* yo cakeleigh coming in clutch with the soft fanart once more. fucking love you dude this picture really makes me smile :)
> 
> https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/756647237630689281/756647297630208000/tumblr_2e73c0b8b6e77aa35166de8ab43fbbe9_314ea5a6_1280.jpg


	9. Boys Will Be Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim picks a fight with Steve. It doesn't end well for anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOO it's so early in the day and here i am uploading on time again :)))
> 
> like i said last week, i really like this chapter. i think it's some of my best writing so far. little shorter than previous chapters (EXACTLY 5k woo), but that's cause it really didn't need any more to get the point across. here's where things really kick off from. probably worth warning this chapter gets a little violent in the middle, so tw for some blood to be safe. i actually toned it down from what it used to be but it still feels worth mentioning
> 
> happy undertale week :D

Jim spent his next nights indoors, unwilling to chance another encounter with the trolls, lest he be dragged back into that demon’s den.

He knew he had nothing to fear from them personally—they clearly didn’t suspect a thing and seemed very willing to protect one of their own, but he feared the lengths they’d go to for that protection. What they would do to his home if they learned who he was. What they would do to _him_ if they found out he spent his days as the very thing they hid from.

But more importantly, he couldn’t risk getting _trapped_. He’d been right to bail when he had, chilling revelation or not. If he got stuck in Trollmarket after the sun came up, he’d have no chance of ever seeing the surface again.

Because he’d be dead, along with probably the rest of Arcadia.

Staying in the house was torture though. If he thought it was hard to sit still while human, then it was _hell_ as a troll. He’d prefer to be out stretching his legs on rooftops and in the wilderness—instead, he stayed inside, doing homework and chores around the house just to keep himself busy. He even did it if his mom was home, trusting his heightened senses to keep him out of sight.

When he grew bored of that, he’d lay on the roof of his house and stare at the stars, but his head would be filled with thoughts of glowing crystals and vast caverns that stretched through endless darkness. His visit to Trollmarket had been brief, yet somehow a ceiling of rock had felt more comforting than the open sky. Safer. Rock was constant—the universe was unfathomable.

For once, Toby’s hobby seemed very appealing.

“Jim?” he heard his mother’s tired voice from the stairs. The morning’s first light was streaming through the kitchen window. He’d heard her shuffling around upstairs and knew she’d make her way down eventually. Thankfully he’d already changed back, but only about half an hour ago. The timing was a little too close for comfort.

“Morning, Mom,” he called, grabbing a rag to wipe the chemicals from his hands. “You’re up early. I thought you had the day off.”

“I do. Just can’t seem to stay asleep. One of those nights, you know?”

He grabbed the coffee pot and dug in the cabinet for grounds. “I think I know the feeling.”

His mother ambled into the kitchen and leaned on the wall, crossing her arms. She was in her bathrobe with her hair pulled out of her face, obviously having just got out of bed. “I might try again soon.”

Hmm. Definitely not coffee then. Maybe tea. Jim abandoned the pot and grabbed a tea bag instead. “Stick around and I’ll make you breakfast before I head to school, but you should go back to bed after. You work too much and you need to catch up on sleep.”

“And what’s your excuse?”

Jim glanced back at her with a frown. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re up and already moving, and it’s not even your wakeup time. You’re not in your pajamas, and you definitely haven’t showered yet. Speaking of—what are you even wearing?”

“Oh, this, uh . . .” He looked down at his outfit, which was his routine nightwear—that is, too loose and baggy for his much smaller human self, and also graying from rapid wear and tear. “Just comfort clothes.”

She raised an eyebrow. “They look disgusting.”

“Well, I was cleaning before you came down and I put these on so I didn’t get anything else dirty.”

“I know. I could hear you.” Her expression soured. “Four hours ago. At one in the morning. Jim, did you even go to bed last night?”

“. . . I guess I didn’t,” he admitted with a shrug as he put a pot of water on the stove and turned the heat on high. “But I feel fine.”

“It’s not fine. I can tell you haven’t been sleeping. I’m getting worried.”

“How can you possibly know that? By the time I’m home from rehearsals, you’re at work.”

“Jim,” she said calmly, “the house is spotless. This place is so thoroughly scoured that I could sell it at its initial market value. So unless you’re skipping school—which I’m confident you aren’t because I haven’t seen you in days—there’s simply not enough hours of daylight for you to pull this off.”

Yeah, he was busted. Such an idiot, he thought bitterly.

“Are you having trouble sleeping? Cause if it’s the nightmares, or you’re feeling stressed, or having insomnia . . . you know, there’s medication for these kinds of things—”

“Mom, I’m fine, promise. I’m not tired. Perfectly lucid.”

“Kids your age should be getting more than eight hours of sleep a night. You might not feel tired, but. It impacts your mental health—”

Jim slapped his hand onto the counter. “I’m _fine.”_

Silence fell between them. Jim took a steadying breath, surprised at himself for snapping. He _never_ snapped at his mother. He relaxed his hand, which he hadn’t realized he’d curled into a fist, and snuck a glance at her. She stared back wordlessly, mildly startled, but mostly wearing an expression that said _see?_

He sighed and grabbed a mug before pouring the tea. “Sorry,” he muttered as he handed it to her, eyes downcast. She took it from him with a quiet thanks.

“I know we’re kind of on different wavelengths these days cause you’re doing a lot for school, and I’m always at the clinic, but . . . I’m here if you ever need to talk,” he heard her say as he put away the cleaning supplies that lined the counter.

Jim smiled despite the resounding _hell no_ in the back of his mind. “I know.” He shut the cabinet and turned to her with a cheerful clap of his hands. “So. What do you want for breakfast?”

* * *

“I think you should talk to him.”

“I’ve tried. He insists that nothing’s wrong.”

Jim and Claire sat at a table in the cafeteria, watching Toby drag his feet like a zombie on his way to the trashcan to dump the food he’d hardly touched. The poor guy looked like he’d barely slept in days—there were dark circles under his eyes and he always looked two seconds away from passing out on his feet. Jim was starting to get really worried.

“What do you think’s wrong? Maybe he’s having a hard time at home?”

Oh, Jim had a _pretty good guess_ what was wrong, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. “I doubt it. His grandma’s the nicest person on the planet and she hardly leaves the house so it’s not like he’s alone that often.”

“Well, one thing’s for sure. He’s definitely not stressing over homework,” Claire muttered as she kicked at the forgotten backpack Toby’d left at his seat. They watched him discard his tray and head for the hall without remembering to spare either of them a parting glance, let alone his backpack.

Jim was just about to grab it and run after him before Toby paused, thought a moment, then turned around and headed in their direction.

“There he is,” Claire said, holding up Toby’s backpack for him to see. The boy smiled gratefully when he neared, but it was hollow.

“Thanks. Almost forgot my bag,” he said, sounding utterly exhausted. It was heartbreaking watching him fall apart like this. Even Claire, who’d only really known Toby passively for a couple of weeks, was becoming deeply concerned for his health. He shouldered the bag and headed for the door without another word, avoiding Jim’s gaze entirely.

Punching him in the face would have been less painful.

“I think I’ll have my mom take a look at him. She’ll at least find some way to help him sleep.”

“That’s a good idea. Maybe we can also invite him to one of our study sessions. He looks like he could use the company.”

“If you don’t mind shouldering another academic burden. He’s about as bad as I am.”

Claire smiled. “Not a bit. I like Toby—he’s lively conversation. I just want to get him back to that point.”

Jim nodded wordlessly, feeling helpless and sour. Watching his best friend crumble a little more every day was stacking on more guilt than he could bear. He wanted to help him—he wanted _so desperately_ to tell him about how he spent his nights, about the hidden civilization beneath Arcadia. Maybe it’d help just _knowing_ what had been under the bridge. Maybe it’d help knowing Jim was around to keep him safe.

And Claire, bless her heart, put up with his low mood while he stressed over his friend. She put her hand on his, which hadn’t moved since he put his pen to paper because his thoughts were too scrambled for him to write. “We can finish this later,” she said.

Jim glanced down at his paper and registered the words for the first time that day. With a thankful nod, he put his pen down and shoved the notebook away. “I just wish there was more I could do,” he muttered, “but I don’t know what.”

“Sometimes you can only do so much. What matters is that you care.”

Jim hummed, slouching in his chair and crossing his arms. He was grateful for Claire’s company or otherwise he’d be stewing in his moroseness alone. The tickets still burned a hole in his pocket and he knew he had to ask soon—the concert was that coming weekend—but thinking about his own delights just made him sick when Toby was clearly suffering from a trauma that couldn’t be easily healed.

Something clattered loudly to the floor and both Jim and Claire started at the noise.

“Are you fucking blind, _Dumb_ -zalski? Are those little eyes in your skull _functioning?”_

Steve was towering over a cowering Toby, who by the looks of it had almost made it out the door before bumping into the bigger kid. There was a tray at Steve’s feet, along with a whole mess of food spilled across the floor and smeared down the front of his shirt.

“Steve, I’m sorry! I swear I didn’t see you! Please, I really don’t want to do this right now—”

“Then you shouldn’t have ran into me, dumbass!”

“Oh no,” Claire muttered uneasily, tensed in her seat as she worried at her bottom lip with her teeth.

Jim bristled, his hands tightening into fists. The familiar _need_ to protect his best friend crawled up his throat in the form of a low growl and his lip curled. Then a deathly calm fell over him and he sighed, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ll be right back. Gotta go play animal control for a sec.”

And gladly save Toby from a brainless brute a second time.

“Ugh, you are such a _wuss!_ Your wussiness is _way_ more punchable than ruining my—”

Steve paused his advance on Toby, who’d been backpedaling in fear, the instant Jim stepped between them. He seemed surprised to be interrupted, but after a quick conspiring glance to his friends behind him, he scoffed. “See what I mean? Tubby’s such a wimp, he needs Lake to be his shield.”

“So insecure, he needs his friends to encourage his every move,” Jim replied dryly. “In case it’s not clear, I’m talking about you.”

Steve scowled. “Do you have a problem with me, Lame Junior?”

“Yeah, and it might be related to you threatening to hit a friend of mine. We on the same page?”

“It sounds like _you_ want to stand in as my punching bag.”

“I’d love to see you try and hit me.”

There was a chorus of _ooh’s_ from Steve’s entourage. Steve cackled with sadistic delight. “I’m impressed! Those are some brave words coming from someone raised as a _momma’s boy.”_

He said the last part louder to rile up his friends, who all whooped on command like a pack of trained dogs.

“Steve, your dad walked out like two years ago. You’re the last person who should be hitting me with mom burns.”

The smile vanished immediately as Steve’s nostrils flared and Jim realized he’d struck a nerve. _Good._ By now a small group of students had gathered nearby to watch and Steve glanced at them tensely, knowing they’d overheard that last slight.

“Uh, Jim?” came Toby’s tentative voice from somewhere behind him. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Full clarity, Tobes.”

Never in his life had he ever been in a fight—save for the thugs he’d wrangled at the electronics store, if that even counted. He was too nonconfrontational and lacked any interest in sinking that low. But the excited murmurs from the growing crowd and the challenge in Steve’s eyes were pushing him into the fire. His blood was hot and he was itching to shatter the idiot’s ego.

He _wanted_ to fight.

The big jock chuckled darkly. “You really want to do this?”

“Unless you want to buy me dinner first.”

Steve kept glancing around at his onlooking friends with that stupid smug grin, his arms splayed out as he nodded eagerly, antagonistically. Everything was a performance for this guy—all eyes had to be on him at all times. Apparently, he hadn’t learned his lesson the first time.

Jim would give him one hell of a performance.

“Hope you know a good doctor, Lake. You’re gonna need one after—”

The gathered crowd groaned as Steve staggered back with a grunt. He raised a shaky hand to touch the smarting part of his face.

“I do, actually,” Jim said calmly as he shook out the sting from his fingers. “My mother.”

Steve’s eyes landed on him, downright murderous. A small stream of blood trickled from his lip. Seething, he straightened, no longer pulling his motivation from spectating eyes. The students went silent as the boys stared each other down, waiting for the next move.

With an angry cry, Steve lunged at him, arm going wide. Jim doubted he even needed troll reflexes to see it coming and easily stepped out of harm’s way. Another fist came flying and he weaved gracefully around it.

The best part about throwing hands with Steve was that the dude was much bigger, and therefore slow. It took him forever to recover.

It gave Jim the perfect opening to hit him again, catching him right in the mouth.

Pain flared in Jim’s knuckles and he hissed—the thin beads of blood told him he’d cut himself on a tooth. Steve turned away to cover his mouth, brow pinched in pain. His palm came away smeared red. He refocused with a snarl and his frontmost teeth were pink.

Jim’s nerves sung. The sight of blood was just making him _eager_ to draw more. He had an insatiable lust to inflict pain and it was only further fueled by the clamoring crowd. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run—the students had formed a circle around them. An arena. It was just Jim and Steve, and only one of them could leave a winner.

“I’m going to bash your face in,” Steve growled as he advanced. Jim bared his teeth.

It was like a choreographed dance of fury, and Steve grew more and more unsettled by his inability to land a hit. Every time Jim stepped out of his reach, he would slowly prowl after him, not in any hurry to miss again. But he was also growing furious, fed by lingering pain. There was already a bruise blossoming where he’d first been struck and an angry red spot on his chin.

“Stop running, you fucking coward!” he screamed. Jim gave him what he wanted and stood his ground as another swing went wide. His shorter stature granted him an easy duck and he retaliated with a fist to the stomach.

That was a mistake. Steve was a senior varsity athlete and had near-perfect physique. It shouldn’t have been surprising when Jim’s knuckles connected with a wall of firm muscle and the bigger student barely flinched.

His vision flashed as Steve finally caught him in the jaw, sending him stumbling to the edge of the circle. The crowd howled in a confused combination of horror and excitement. To his credit, though, he managed to stay on his feet despite the room suddenly spinning. Taking as shaky breath, he gingerly pressed his fingers to the corner of his mouth and winced at the fierce sting.

God, it felt so _good._

He heard Steve praising himself nearby for finally connecting, convinced it was all a downhill battle from there. The stomp of approaching footsteps was louder than a troll’s and plenty of warning to what was coming.

Jim turned in time to see a meaty fist hurtling straight for him. He raised a hand and stopped it dead, the skin stinging as hard knuckles smacked his palm.

The crowd gasped and fell silent.

Jim raised his eyes to Steve’s—the boy was frozen with shock, eyes wide and slack-jawed as he stared at their connected hands.

Poor guy never saw it coming.

Jim yanked Steve down and crushed his fist against the kid’s nose, feeling the cartilage shatter under his fingers as a sickening _crunch!_ split the air like a gunshot. Blood spurted like a burst pipe and Steve fell onto his back with a heavy thud, moaning and writhing, clutching at his face as red seeped through his fingers.

Jim’s hand curled and uncurled as he watched Steve roll in pain, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. This boy had antagonized him for years—gave Toby shit practically every time he saw him. And countless others, too. He was a bully and a low life. He deserved this, and yet . . .

It wasn’t enough.

Something inside Jim snapped and the next thing he knew, he was on top of Steve, pinning him with his knees as he hit him again and again, over and over and _over and you’ll never hurt anyone ever again you pathetic son of a bitch._

Steve was helpless to stop him. He tried covering his face but he was too blind from blood and too delirious with pain for his hands to do any real good. The students around them were dead silent, shocked into stillness and trapped by a sick sense of awe that wouldn’t let them turn away. The only sounds that rang through the cafeteria were fists striking flesh and Steve’s blubbering sobs.

Someone grabbed him by the arm, stopping him fast. He was so entranced by his own bloodlust he didn’t turn to see who, only tried to yank himself free so he could keep going. Fingers curled tightly in his hoodie and finally wrenched him off with one big heave, dragging him to his feet. With a growl he turned to whomever had interrupted him.

Something cracked hard across his face and it was exactly what he needed to break from the madness. Dazed, he pressed a hand to his stinging cheek as his eyes landed on Claire.

She was angrier than he’d ever seen her. “What the hell is _wrong_ with you?!”

He blinked at her, confused. Steve’s whining voice grabbed his attention and his gaze fell to the squirming, bleeding mess on the floor nearby.

Chilling, unbridled _horror_ gripped his heart as it dawned on him what he’d just done.

Claire shoved furiously at his chest. “Are you possessed? Do you have some sick, _sadistic_ side you didn’t bother mentioning before?”

His voice was trembling when he responded. “Claire, I—I didn’t—”

“You know, I liked hanging out with you because you seemed too nice to be anything like these jerks, but somehow, you managed to be _worse_ than any of them. I just can’t believe you.”

There was a genuine hurt beneath the icy glare she gave him as she shoved past, moving to help Steve. Jim felt it like a spear to the chest. Many of the nearby students were giving him uneasy looks. Those friends of Steve who’d stuck around kept their gazes clear, dreading eye contact.

Even Toby, who stood petrified nearby, stared at him with an expression he’d never seen Toby wear. Jim didn’t recognize his friend—it was like meeting the eyes of a stranger.

That was the thing he’d feared from the beginning—being seen as some kind of monster.

Coach Lawrence pushed his way through the clamoring students and rushed over to Steve, murmuring words of encouragement and “Shake it off, champ,” to get him to calm down. Jim yelped when a hand clamped down on his jacket and yanked him towards the hall so suddenly he nearly lost his footing.

“In my office. _Now,”_ Mr. Strickler snapped as he forcefully dragged Jim along by the collar like a scruffed kitten, around a corner, and away from the piercing stares of the students in the cafeteria. He was all but thrown into the man’s office.

“James Lake Junior, are you out of your _mind?”_ the man exclaimed furiously as he slammed the door behind him. “What could have _possibly_ possessed you to behave so _savagely?!”_

“Mr. Strickler, I—”

“Take a _seat.”_ Mr. Strickler pointed coldly to his desk. Jim scrunched his shoulders and obeyed wordlessly. He dragged a stool over and hung his head when he sat, arms crossed and not quite facing his teacher.

Mr. Strickler came around and sat in his own chair. “How you behaved is unacceptable. You’re lucky I’m _choosing_ to handle this myself instead of sending you to be dealt with by the principle. The possibility of expulsion doesn’t even cover it—you understand this is grounds for police involvement? What you did is borderline _assault.”_

“I understand, sir,” he responded quietly, dejected.

The man tensed, as if to say more, but relaxed after a moment and sighed. “Here,” he said in a softer tone as he handed Jim a tissue. “You’re bleeding.”

Jim took it without a word and wiped at his mouth. It came back with a smear of red.

“What’s going on with you, Jim? This isn’t like you.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“Jim, of the past three years I’ve had you as a student, not once have I seen you engage in any sort of conflict at this school, physical or otherwise. You not only _broke_ Steve’s nose, but proceeded to beat him while he was unable to defend himself.”

“He was threatening Toby. I wasn’t gonna just stand there and watch.”

“Be that as it may, there’s a fine line between standing up for your friends and personally taking it too far.” Mr. Strickler leaned back in his chair and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “I’ll have to notify your mother about this.”

Jim blanched. “Wait, please don’t—”

“It’s school policy. I’m sorry, my hands are tied.”

With a heaving sigh, Jim slouched on his stool and put his face in his hands. Frustration was beginning to build over the mountains of regret he carried already and he felt like crying. “She already has enough to worry about. I don’t want to give her more.”

He hissed and pulled away as his fingers throbbed in pain. He’d been so caught up in his battle high he hadn’t noticed his own injuries—his knuckles were scraped and bloody. Mr. Strickler reached out and gingerly took Jim’s hands in his own, inspecting the damage with disapproving eyes. “I know how much you care about your mother. You don’t want to scare her, and you don’t want to concern her. In fact, you’re so obsessed with her peace of mind that you’re completely forgoing your _own_ emotional needs.”

Jim sunk in on himself, wearier than he had been in weeks. He screwed his eyes shut and, for the first time since becoming a part time troll, remembered what it felt like to be tired. “I know,” he admitted. “I just . . . want to take care of her.”

“I understand you’re only trying to fill the role left behind by your father.”

“I don’t _care_ about my father.”

“Perhaps not, but you care about the strain it put on your mother when he left. You want to lessen her burden by taking much of it on yourself. But you’re at a very stressful time of your life: you’re almost eighteen, on your last year of high school, your mind and heart running wild—and yes, I do see the way you look at Miss Nuñez,” he added with a small smile, to which Jim flushed and looked away.

“But what I’m trying to get at is that now is not the time for you to be Atlas. The weight of the world is not something you need to be carrying, and you need to accept that you can’t protect everyone all the time. What you need is some help. Guidance. If not from me or your mother, then from others, whomever they may be.”

A single tear escaped from Jim’s eye and ran down his cheek. It might as well have been a dam bursting. “I do have a problem, and I—I don’t know what to do,” he whispered, voice trembling.

Mr. Strickler leaned forward slightly, and his voice was soft when he spoke. “Is there any way I can ease this problem?”

Of course not. There wasn’t a chance in hell his teacher could understand the weight of his struggle.

And yet . . .

“I . . .” Jim began hoarsely. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Sometimes . . . something happens to me. I don’t understand why, but it’s like . . . I’m a completely different person. Someone I don’t like.”

“And why do you find this version of you so unappealing?”

“Because . . . because it’s like I can’t _recognize_ myself. Like, I know it’s me, but as if I were wearing someone else’s skin. It’s . . .” He exhaled through his teeth. “It’s so _confusing._ I-I know it sounds weird—”

“Jim,” Mr. Strickler interrupted, pulling Jim’s gaze back to his. There was a surprising amount of understanding in his eyes. “I might be able to perceive this feeling better than you think.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Yes. It sounds like you’re having a crisis of identity. Not unusual for one your age—high school is nearly over and the rest of your life is fast approaching. You might find yourself forced to choose who _you_ want to be, or submit to what life will make _of_ you.

“And it scares you. Your emotions are tumultuous—you’re bottling it up, lashing out. There’s only so much the human mind can take before it breaks. Worst of all, the only solution is to look for help _outside_ of yourself. You need someone trustworthy who can understand and aid you through your pain, and with time, you’ll find that this version of yourself you’re not fond of is no longer there.”

“You’re telling me to . . . find someone I trust who can help? Like a friend?”

“Well, I was thinking more along the lines of a behavioral therapist or perhaps a psychologist, but if you find the comfort you need in a friend, then by all means, Jim.”

Jim dropped his gaze in thought. Someone who understood . . .

Well, the only people that understood were underground in the very place he’d fled from, but even then, he wasn’t exactly what they thought he was.

Mr. Strickler was right, though; he couldn’t deal with it alone. That much was certain at this point. Blinky had been so welcoming of him, too. Maybe . . . maybe if was careful, he could get the trolls to help him. Maybe they could undo this nightly curse altogether. After all, a troll had caused it—maybe one could also fix it.

Maybe it was time he stopped trying so hard to hide.

“Thank you, Mr. Strickler. That was surprisingly helpful advice.”

“Well, I’m glad I could be of service,” the man said cheerfully. Then, he cleared his throat. “Now, here’s what happens next: you’re going to go to the nurse; I’m going to go to the principle and take care of this mess; I will speak to Coach Lawrence about keeping this matter inside the school; and this _isn’t_ going to happen again. Am I making myself clear?”

Jim straightened, nodding quickly. “Thank you so much, sir, I—”

“And tomorrow, you will be subjected to an in-school suspension under my authority. You will sit at a desk in the back, you will do nothing but your assignments, you will _not_ speak to the other students, and you will _not_ leave my classroom for the duration of the day until I dismiss you.”

“Th—”

 _"And_ you will also serve detention for the rest of the month. Two-hour periods immediately following the end of the school day doing whatever tasks Ms. Janeth assigns you. Starting today.” He smirked, a twinkle in his eye. “I understand you’ve been helping at the play rehearsals, and I trust she’ll find plenty to keep you quietly busy. Accept these consequences, and this will stay our little secret.”

Well, his enthusiasm waned a little, but he was still beyond relieved. “Thank you, Mr. Strickler,” Jim smiled appreciatively as he stood. “For everything.”

“Now go on.” The man gestured at the door. “No need to miss more class than you already will.”

Guilt still weighed heavy in his heart, but Jim left Mr. Strickler’s office with a plan and iron resolve. If there hadn’t been a reason to cure himself of this wretched affliction before, that day had definitely given him plenty.

He refused to lose himself again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY so funny story regarding this chapter:
> 
> i wrote 80% almost entirely unconsciously. i actually barely remember writing the first draft, but i remember the exact day it happened cause it was the day my undergrad thesis was due (back in may of this year). ANYWAY so, at the time, i hadn't slept in nearly two days because i was constantly chugging out turntable renders (i'm a 3d artist) for compositing. if anyone knows how 3d workflows are, then you know how long rendering can take, and these were decimated sculptures imported from zbrush (so, you know, still millions of tris that sometimes took hours at a time to render). anyway sometime at like 5:00am i decided to try writing while i waited for a render to finish--and keep in mind this was my second night without sleep LOL--so my brain shut off and i hammered out like 4k words in two hours. i wasn't even tired, i was just in a constant state of panic that kept me at max productivity until my thesis was composited. then i died later that day :D
> 
> anyway MUCH longer chapter next week see u then <3


	10. The Courageous Conspiracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim returns to Trollmarket with hopes of finding the help he needs, and ends up running into a familiar face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i coulda uploaded this hours ago but i Forgot. still pretty early all things considered :)
> 
> this chapter is pretty lengthy. like a bit over 9k words? idk something like that. definitely a leap from last week's, and what i typically post in general. also little surprise at the end i thought would be fun to include for a ten chapter milestone. and we're barely getting started lmao

Jim pressed his hand to the canal wall, transfixed with awe as the cement fractured and magically dematerialized right before his eyes. That little trick was _never_ going to get old.

He was nervous. Scared. That was the only way to describe the pressure in his chest as he stepped through the portal and into the crystal staircase grotto. The stairs were dark with inactivity, the gentle glow of the horngazel the only light to lead the way—that is, until his foot touched the first crystal, and then suddenly the entire cave was alight with a calming blue as each geode illuminated in succession to the very bottom.

There was no denying that the secret world beneath Arcadia was magnificent—the site of the city was just as breathtaking a second time—though it was what lay ahead that made him fearful. The trolls had accepted him once, but there was no guarantee they’d be so kind again.

And yet, he didn’t falter as he descended onto the main street, claws scratching nervously at the horngazel in his grip. His ears twitched as he picked up on the whispers of nearby trolls, feeling their eyes following him. He felt exposed with all the glances his way, as if they’d see right through his false mask and identify him as one of the humans they despised so much.

He wondered, then, if any of those who stared were _like_ him—stony, perverted versions of flesh and bone brought on by sunset. But as his eyes flicked over colossal forms of living mineral, broad and muscular and so very, very big, he had a hard time believing he was anything but alone.

Jim kept his chin up and walked on despite the curious mumblings. If there was even a _slight_ possibility that he could find a solution to his problem down here, then he’d take his chances.

He ran once. He would _not_ run again—not until he had an answer.

A pair of black armored trolls pointed at him from down the street before approaching. A twitch of his ears told him more were drawing up at his back, rasping in their guttural tongue. Swallowing, Jim pressed on, refusing to stop until the guards in front raised their spears to block his path, their emerald eyes boring into him.

Okay, yeah, he was in trouble.

They barked something at him. He couldn’t understand it, so he just stood still and silent. They gestured with their spears and the two behind him nudged at his shoulders.

They lead him down the main street, trolls on all sides watching with rapt interest. The guards, despite their wicked appearance, weren’t aggressive with him. Every once in a while, one would gently prod him with the butt of a spear to encourage him to keep the pace if he started slowing, but they were never rough. Perhaps his youth benefited him here. Blinky _had_ mentioned something about him being underage, and none of the guards seemed eager to hurt or scare him.

As if on cue, the four-armed troll burst through the crowd of onlookers—first looking surprised to see Jim, then downright furious.

_“You’ve got quite the case to make for yourself, lad! So you’d better get explaining!”_

Jim shrunk away, ears flattening against his head in alarm. Blinky marched right up to the front of Jim’s escort and shoved his way between the two leading guards, who stepped aside with offended grunts.

“The absolute _nerve!_ And after a pair of strangers brought you into their home! To _steal_ a horngazel and _violate_ Trollmarket’s security precautions is an egregious offense! And to disappear for _days._ Your misguided actions are flagrantly appalling! What do you have to say for yourself, you impertinent _whelp?!”_

By now, Jim was hunched on his haunches submissively as Blinky glared down at him, stunned into silence. He merely stared back with wide eyes. Even the nearby guards seemed uncomfortable.

Blinky scowled. _“Well?!”_

Jim slowly raised his hands in a timid shrug. “I’m . . . sorry?”

All of the tension disappeared from Blinky’s shoulders as his expression went slack. Then he shook his head with a scoff and grumbled something under his breath.

“Give me _that,”_ he snapped as he swiped the horngazel from Jim’s loosened grip. He pointed it at Jim as he said, “I should have taken you for a thief from the start. What else would a life on the surface teach?”

The blaring thrum of horns echoed through the vast cavern and Jim jumped to his feet, curious eyes wandering as the nearby trolls muttered amongst themselves. The guards all directed their attention down the street, where another small group of guards in black marched in their direction, flanking a pale troll who walked with a glowing staff.

Blinky hummed to himself before turning back to Jim. “Not a word out of you. I’ll handle this,” he said sourly.

“Blinkous Galadrigal,” the pale troll sneered in distaste as he neared. His voice sounded withered with age. “Why am I not surprised to see you involved in this?”

Blinky raised his hands in greeting and laughed weakly in response. “Vendel! What a delight to see you down in the market—”

“Save your drivel. I’ve no patience for it today,” Vendel said drily as he pushed his way past Blinky. Jim straightened as the old troll looked him over with eyes milky enough to suggest blindness—though, the sharp scrutiny he felt himself under told him otherwise. “So, _you’re_ the young whelp that’s stirred up all this unrest. I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.”

Jim felt exceedingly small standing before the old troll, who clearly held status among his kind if the security detail was anything to go by. Thankfully, Blinky came to his aid. “He’s new to Trollmarket. Hails from our eastern neighbors. Spent quite some time alone on the surface.”

Vendel’s brow furrowed curiously. “Why would a youngling travel alone?”

“Aaarrrgghh and I determined that he is orphaned. We brought him down to Trollmarket for the purpose of reintegrating him into normalcy. The plan _had_ been to notify you of this situation, but that was before, _well . . .”_

Jim dropped his gaze when Blinky’s accusing eyes fell on him.

The old troll hummed in thought, large fingers stroking the thick strands of his beard. “Very well. I agree with this. I believe the whelp will benefit from guardianship.”

“Excellent decision.”

 _“You_ will take care of him.”

“A wise choice, my old fr—” Blinky froze, startled. He blinked once before turning to follow as the pale troll slowly made his way back down the road. “Surely there’s a more suitable troll? One with more . . . _experience_ rearing children?”

Vendel whirled on the shorter troll. “He is not a _child._ He’s clearly capable of some means of self-preservation, but someone still needs to keep him out of trouble. Since _you’re_ so quick to speak for him, that someone might as well be _you.”_

He leaned in closer, voice lowering. “Don’t think I’m a fool, Blinkous. I know you arrogantly disregard my order and take to the surface whenever you please. The only reason I’ve not bellyached yet is because Aaarrrgghh’s with you, but don’t believe for a moment I do not notice. For the whelp, this is an opportunity. For you, it’s _punishment.”_ The old troll glanced briefly at Jim before resuming his leave. “Try not to rub off on the boy too much.”

The guards followed Vendel, including those that had escorted Jim, leaving him and Blinky standing in the middle of the street—the latter stunned into stillness. The exchange hadn’t been a silent one and many nearby trolls stared at them with amusement before slowly dispersing as the excitement died.

Jim shuffled his feet awkwardly. Blinky, after taking a moment to collect himself, dispelled all his frustration with a sigh and managed a hesitant smile. “Well, I suppose we should get you situated,” he said before shuffling over to Jim and taking him by the arm, leading him in the direction of the giant glowing crystal where his cave was.

“I’m really sorry. I-I didn’t mean to—”

“Nonsense, my boy,” Blinky laughed, his spirits seemingly lifting further by the second. “I’m a little taken aback, is all. Truth is, this is wholeheartedly deserved on my part. Vendel’s right—there are consequences to my arrogance.”

Jim slowed to a stop, making Blinky pause and regard him curiously. He dropped his gaze. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I could go somewhere else.”

Blinky released his arm and stepped behind him, placing two hands on his shoulders and giving an encouraging push. “Don’t be absurd. Aaarrrgghh will be thrilled to have a new friend. Between you and me, he was feeling rather down after you ran away the other night.”

“Really?”

“Of course. He’d taken to you almost immediately.”

The paths of Trollmarket were busy like last time, trolls milling through shops as business returned to normal. None of them paid Jim and Blinky any more attention, the scene already forgotten, but Jim noticed some of the roaming guards passing them occasional glances. He’d had a real talent for reputation, lately.

“Blinky,” Jim began, “why is Trollmarket in lockdown?”

He looked back when the older troll answered him with silence. Blinky gazed nervously around the market and cleared his throat.

“A question better answered in private,” he said under his breath.

Aaarrrgghh was there to greet them in Blinky’s cave. He grunted happily upon seeing Jim.

“Was worried,” he said, sounding relieved. “Haven’t seen Jim in days.”

Blinky placed a friendly hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Yes, he’s been quite the elusive troublemaker. Thanks to his antics, he’s landed himself a permanent residency in my library on Vendel’s orders.”

Aaarrrgghh gaped. “Jim staying?”

Jim chuckled uncertainly with a light shrug. He yelped as he was suddenly pulled into a spine-crushing hug, the burly troll oblivious to his discomfort.

“New cavemate!” the brute boomed happily.

“Alright, Aaarrrgghh. Let’s not break the whelp,” Blinky warned him good humoredly. Jim wheezed as he was set back on the ground, Aaarrrgghh taking care to ensure he didn’t topple over before giving him an assuring pat on the horns. Despite the ache in his ribcage, Jim smiled up at the big troll.

“Now, Jim.”

Jim snapped to attention. Blinky gestured for him to follow and he obeyed, Aaarrrgghh closely in tow.

“You may be stationed here as my charge for the time being, but that does not grant you infinite freedom,” Blinky said as he led him further into the library. “There are but three rules you must follow. Rule number one—” He pulled out the horngazel and flourished it. “—you are not to go to the surface alone. Ever. Especially not these days. Thanks to that stunt you pulled the other night, I’ll have to keep the horngazel locked away where deft little youngling fingers can’t get to it.”

Aaarrrgghh hummed with a somber nod. He caught the crystal when Blinky tossed it his way, his thick fingers encasing the small item entirely. Jim eyed the brute’s hand, suddenly nervous about how he was going to get out _this_ time. There was little chance he’d be able to wrestle it away from an actual mountain of a troll.

“Rule number two—” Blinky continued. “—don’t wander the market without Aaarrrgghh or I to accompany you, unless I say otherwise. You’re still new here and I don’t want you getting lost or causing trouble for any of the shopkeepers. It wouldn’t do you much good to get arrested a second time, now would it?”

He walked over to his disaster of a center table and picked up a book in each of his hands before moving back to Jim. “And rule number three: you will assist me whenever I call for it. That includes helping tidy up my library or aiding me in the market.”

He shoved the books into Jim’s arms with a bright smile. Jim gaped in shocked outrage.

“Give you a hand? You have four of them!”

“Yes! But more is always ideal!” Blinky laughed. Jim groaned—he’d literally _just_ spent nights cleaning his own damn house for the sake of avoiding Trollmarket. Now that he was actually here, he was required to do the _exact same thing_ for some crazy troll.

“You can start by placing these books in their designated shelves. Organized by subject, of course.”

“How do you even let it get this bad?” Jim grumbled, squinting as he tried to make sense of the foreign characters on the covers.

“Blinky messy,” Aaarrrgghh supplied lowly.

“I am not!” the older troll protested from his place across the room. “I just have my own methods of order. I would have cleared everything already had I known we’d be having company, but seeing as how this was a surprise for both of us, _well.”_ He looked pointedly at Jim. “Consider this my way of disciplining for snatching my horngazel and stealing for the surface like a troll gone mad.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Why’s everyone freaking out about me going to the surface? Nothing happened.”

Neither of the trolls answered him. Jim watched with growing irritation as Blinky and Aaarrrgghh exchanged glances.

“What?” he huffed.

Blinky shoved the book he was holding onto a shelf and turned back to Jim, his expression troubled. “Something happened some weeks ago. Something foul.”

Aaarrrgghh rumbled in affirmation. “A murder.”

Jim started. “Woah, really?”

“Indeed,” Blinky said. “The king’s top general, no less. Shattered beneath the very bridge that serves as the gateway to Trollmarket.”

“Kanjigar was friend,” Aaarrrgghh added with a shake of his head. “Sad.”

“So, you see why we’re so quick to be cautious. If such an esteemed and valorous warrior can be felled, then any troll that ventures to the surface could be in grave danger. Including—” Blinky grabbed another book and shuffled over, lightly smacking Jim on the head with it. “—a young whelp who may think more with his horns than his head.”

“Okay, I get it. I didn’t know,” Jim muttered, feeling somewhat chastened, and a little ashamed, for ignoring the warnings. All the trolls had wanted to do was keep him safe and he’d blown them off in his ignorance.

Though, he’d been running around Arcadia for weeks now. Never had he run into any danger or even _sensed_ potential danger—excluding the strange troll that’d been stalking Claire at the school, or when he’d fought that angry troll that’d threatened Toby while he’d had been digging through the—

Wait.

The pile of rocks. Blinky said the troll was shattered under the bridge.

Those had been troll remains.

He _saw_ the murder with his _own eyes._

“Blinky,” Jim said suddenly. “Who killed the troll—uh, Kanjigar?”

“We don’t know. The culprit was never discovered. There are strong suspicions of greater powers at play, though.”

“Greater powers?”

“Enemies to trollkind—humans, most likely. But we don’t know for sure, so Vendel has issued the citizens of Trollmarket to stay sheltered for the time being. Hence the lockdown.”

“What if a troll killed Kanjigar? What then?”

“A troll?” Blinky barked out a laugh. “Preposterous! No troll could hope to best the mighty Kanjigar! None aside from the king himself, of course, but Kanjigar was killed outside of Trollmarket. Our king never leaves the Heartstone. Besides—what use would our king have in killing his most sedulous soldier?”

Jim pursed his lips, because he didn’t have a response that wouldn’t out him on the spot.

Blinky gave Jim’s stack of books a pat. “Ah, well. Nothing worth fretting over. No intruder can bypass the barrier and we have the king’s army to keep us safe. This mess will blow over in time. So, for now, you can help me sort these books.”

Jim glanced nervously at the books in his arms as Blinky returned to cheerfully reorganizing his collection, at a loss for where to put them. He couldn’t bridge any connection between the titles he held with any in the shelves—just a bunch of weird marks that seemed random to his eyes.

Glancing at Aaarrrgghh, he held up the first book. “What does this say?” he whispered so Blinky didn’t hear him.

Aaarrrgghh leaned closer and squinted at the title, rumbling in thought. “Hmm. _Battle Tactics of Bergljot the Berserker,”_ he read, sounding each syllable out really slowly and even managing to mispronounce a few. Jim quickly realized why Blinky wasn’t asking for Aaarrrgghh’s help with organizing.

“Okay,” Jim nodded, setting the book down and holding up the next. “What about this?”

 _“An abridged . . ._ um . . . _Summary of Ava—_ hmm _—Avalonian Lore.”_

“Really? This is an _abridged_ version?” Jim muttered under his breath as he eyed the thick volume in distaste. He tossed it aside and pulled up the next, which featured an ink illustration of a monster on the cover. “What about this?”

“That would be a bestiary,” Blinky said, having suddenly appeared next to Jim and making both him and Aaarrrgghh jump in surprise. Blinky grabbed the book, as well as the remaining one in Jim’s other hand. “And this is _Historiae Dicere Troglodytam_ by the reputable Ingeborg. Aaarrrgghh’s not much of a reader, you see.”

“Yeah, I figured that out.”

“Why are you asking him to spell out the books for you?” At Jim’s uneasy expression and downward gaze, Blinky’s brow rose as it dawned on him. “You can’t read, can you?”

“. . . Not really, no.”

Blinky clicked his tongue in disgust. “The absolute _neglect_ from our eastern brothers. To allow younglings to go so long without proper education. Completely absurd!” He dropped the books on the table and sighed before placing a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Never mind reorganizing—I’ll take care of it. Aaarrrgghh, why don’t you show him around? Or take him to the Forge?”

“Good idea,” the brute nodded.

“But don’t think you’re off the hook, lad,” Blinky warned. “I’ll see to it myself that you learn to read Trollish, and _then_ you’ll assist me in the library.”

“Sounds . . . good,” Jim said, unconvinced.

“Now go on. And Aaarrrgghh—keep an eye on him.”

Jim exchanged excited glances with Aaarrrgghh before rushing for the exit, the large troll lumbering close behind. The traffic outside of Blinky’s cave wasn’t too bad, but the further into the market they went, the heavier it became, and Jim, being as small as he was in comparison to most trolls, had to keep close to Aaarrrgghh to avoid getting swept up in the crowd.

“What’s the Forge?” he asked.

“Hero’s Forge,” Aaarrrgghh elaborated. “Combat arena. Fun. And dangerous.”

“Cool.”

Though what was more immediately interesting were all the nearby shops as they passed. Jim slowly fell behind as he strained to peek into some of them, the wares easily arresting his attention. None of the shops had written signs, only simplified depictions to symbolize what could be found inside. Apparently, a lack of reading skill extended to more than just Aaarrrgghh. There were countless shimmering stones in one shop; a huge collection of glowing totems in another. One had a colorful array of forged weapons on display, many of which crackled with strange energy.

It was starting to become really hard to ignore that magic was real, and it was the most fascinating thing. Casting a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure Aaarrrgghh’s massive form was still in sight (and thank goodness his size made him slow), Jim approached the assortment of blades and gazed at them in wonder. An axe—likely designed for single hands but big enough for Jim to need both—caught his eye, and he gazed in awe at the glowing engravings along the steel. It looked like the Trollish he’d seen in Blinky’s books.

He pressed a finger to a mark and immediately jerked back with a hiss as the surface burned him like he’d touched a hot stove.

“Careful, whelp,” a gruff voice said and Jim looked up to find the owner of the shop—a broad troll with deep red skin and chipped horns—watching him with dry amusement. “It’s enchanted with the heat of fire. Turn you to stone right quick.”

Jim nodded with an embarrassed chuckle and backed away, meaning to return to Aaarrrgghh while his mind was wild with _holy shit magical weapons that’s so cool._ He saw the burly troll up the street a short way, paused and glancing around with a perplexed look on his face—clearly searching for Jim. Jim’s smaller stature made him practically invisible in the crowd. Poor guy.

Something screeched off to the side and his attention was immediately captured once more as his eyes landed on a series of small cages. Jim weaved through the crowd and peered into one, marveling at the aggressive little creature inside. It snapped at the bars and he threw himself back as it swiped at him, its talons falling just short of his legs. The other cages held all manner of tiny monsters, all of which were shackled around the neck. He watched as the shop’s owner prodded one with a rod before the offended beast furiously bit it in half.

Aaarrrgghh was quickly left behind, forgotten, as Jim’s curiosity and excitement lead him further into the market.

He watched a troll melt and shape precious metals with his bare hands. Another shop yielded the owner hammering away at armor sets while a second troll fitted the pieces with radiantly cut gems. The bar down the street produced enticing smells and Jim had the pleasure of watching two burly trolls take turns punching one another in a competition to see who fell first. Another shop displayed only human-made products, likely scavenged from the surface before being repurposed for selling—Jim was almost immediately chased out by a shrill troll after making a comment about “useless junk.”

There was a place that sold an array of jewelry for horns. Another displayed trophies claimed from colossal monsters. An ingredient shop with unnatural food items. A slaughterhouse that exclusively sold cat meat. An abandoned cave filled with box televisions, microwaves, toasters, and other square appliances, seemingly infested by what looked to be tiny men in pointed red hats—okay, that was a little weird. Hell, there was even a tattoo shop, but instead of ink, the artist used a stake and mallet to carve patterns into the buyer’s skin.

This underground utopia housed the most wildly colorful culture of any fantasy media he’d ever digested. And it was _real._

A particular establishment caught his eye—a little neon blue sign depicting a vial with a plus above the entrance. An apothecary of some kind, maybe. The air around the alcove smelled burnt and sour, and Jim had to keep a hand pressed to his overly-sensitive nose as he drew closer. Shallow recesses in the walls housed dozens of small vials of varying colors. A carved table near the back supported all kinds of delicate equipment and a number of bowls with bubbling liquids.

Jim’s only guess was some kind of chemistry lab—or, alchemy? All of the vials were labeled in Trollish and offered him no hint of their use. Maybe they were medicinal? He wondered what ailments they treated.

Then he wondered if any could treat _his_ ailment.

The owner of the shop didn’t appear to be present. Jim selected a vial at random and popped off the cork before giving the greenish liquid a quick sniff—it was nearly enough to burn his nose hairs off. Gagging, he quickly replaced the vial and rifled through others, picking some up and peering at them before setting them back.

In the end, he was really judging them based on color and settled for a nonthreatening pink that reminded him of the bubble-gum flavored Amoxicillin his mother would give him for sore throats as a child. Much to his surprise, it smelled sweet, and a tad spicy.

Not that he actually planned on drinking it—that’d be idiotic. Best to wait for the owner to return first.

Jim turned around in hopes of locating said troll—only to run straight into one. It was like walking into a brick wall and he stumbled back on his rear, the vial slipping from his fingers and shattering on the stone floor. Its contents bubbled and steamed, filling the air with a pleasant spice as it ate through the rock floor.

Wow, good thing he didn’t put _that_ in his mouth.

A threatening growl snapped his attention back to the troll looming over him. “I know _you.”_

Jim blinked, confused. He swore he’d never met this troll—with azure skin and a massive set of horns, natural crystalline armor and an iron nose ring. Yellow bloodshot eyes, bright and furious, bore into him.

Recognition crept into Jim’s mind as he recalled where he’d seen those eyes. He remembered them from the night Toby was attacked. He also remembered a _lot_ of pain.

“You’re the cracked little _runt_ that got in my way that night under the bridge,” the troll snorted hotly.

Fear gripped at Jim’s chest and he scrambled backwards, but the seething brute stomped after him. His eyes searched wildly for help and found none—not as many trolls walked through this part of the market and those who did paid them no attention.

“You were really quick to come to that human’s defense. What are you hiding, _whelp?_ What were you doing on the surface? _”_

Jim finally found his footing and stood clumsily, never taking his eyes off the approaching troll. Burning eyes made him feel cornered and he stayed low to the ground, ready to bolt. Grinding metal fingers curled and uncurled in place of a proper right hand, feeding all the way to the bicep. The prosthetic by no means made the troll any less threatening.

“I’ll teach you not to cross _me.”_

Suddenly a mass of green fur and gray stone rushed between them. The angry troll started as he was met with the unmoving barrier of Aaarrrgghh standing firmly in front of Jim.

“Out of. The _way._ Aaarrrgghh,” the troll growled lowly, trembling with suppressed rage.

Aaarrrgghh merely shook his head, chin raising as he drew up to his full height. Even on all fours, he loomed over the azure troll. “Jim friend,” he said.

The troll squinted suspiciously. “Jim, is it?” He peeked over Aaarrrgghh’s shoulder and sneered at Jim. “Quite an odd name for a troll, wouldn’t you say?”

He tried stepping around Aaarrrgghh, but Aaarrrgghh moved to block his path and pushed Jim further behind him. “Won’t hurt Jim. Blinky’s ward.”

“So, it managed to scam its way under the protection of Blinky and Aaarrrgghh,” the troll chuckled humorlessly. “Very clever.”

Jim bristled. “I’m not an _it!”_

“And it speaks! Then tell me—what were you doing under the _bridge?”_

Aaarrrgghh stomped a fist in warning. “Draal. _No.”_

“Or _what?”_ the troll—Draal—leaned in close enough to nearly touch noses with Aaarrrgghh. _“You’ll_ stop me? Forgo your oath to protect the little mongrel?”

The growl Aaarrrgghh produced was spine-chilling—and a clear declaration of where he stood on the matter. His horns lowered until they nearly locked with Draal’s.

A fight between the two seemed imminent—that is, until Blinky suddenly appeared.

“That’s enough, you two!” he snapped as he slid between the bristling pair and pushed them apart with two hands each. “There are young eyes watching. Draal—a pleasure, as always.”

The azure troll snorted like a bull. Aaarrrgghh cocked his head, “Blinky followed?”

“Not quite. I was actually on my way to RotGut’s, so I’m just as surprised by this meeting as you. Weren’t you on your way to the Forge?”

“Jim got lost.”

“Ah,” he said, peering around Aaarrrgghh to fix Jim with an unimpressed frown. “Breaking rule number two already, I see.”

Jim averted his gaze, guilty.

Blinky turned back to Draal, who was still trembling with rage. “Draal, Jim is new to life in Trollmarket. Whatever trouble he may have caused you, I’m sure it can be peacefully resolved—”

Draal roared and lunged for Jim. Aaarrrgghh caught him and held him in place as he clawed furiously at the air.

“Mr. Draal, I’m _sorry,”_ Jim pleaded as he cowered behind Aaarrrgghh. Blinky stepped away from the wrestling trolls, gesturing for Jim to do the same.

“Jim, just let us handle this—"

Draal’s eyes flashed. “Sorry doesn’t even _begin_ to make up for your slight! What sort of troll chooses a _human_ over his own kin?! I’d have killed _you_ in that worm’s place had you not fled like a coward!”

Blinky looked at Jim uncertainly. “What is he talking about?”

Jim hardly heard him. “B-But, that human—why did you _try_ to kill him? He wasn’t hurting anything!

 _“Humans killed my father!”_ Draal boomed. “And that walking sack of meat _desecrated_ his _remains!”_

“Wait, _what?”_ Jim exclaimed, faltering. “Your _father?_ That was your father?!”

“I am Draal the Deadly! Son of Kanjigar the Courageous, and thanks to you, that little flesh rodent made off with a _piece_ of him!”

Draal bellowed and thrust his massive horns against Aaarrrgghh’s chest, upsetting the brute’s balance enough to shove past. Jim was so stricken by fear he didn’t move when Draal lashed out at him, python fingers wrapping around his throat and hauling him into the air like he was nothing.

Jim heard Blinky exclaim in horror. “Draal, he’s just a whelp!”

The troll’s breath was foul as it blew hotly against Jim’s face. All Jim could manage was his hands clutched tightly around Draal’s fingers, desperately fighting his own weight so he could breathe. Terrified would be too easy to describe how he felt.

Draal bared his teeth as he spat, “For _weeks_ I was denied the surface to collect what remains of him. He just sat there _rotting._ Rotting beneath that damned bridge! On his _name,_ I will make the humans suffer his pain—!”

“Kanjigar was killed by a troll!”

The following silence was _deafening._ Beneath the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears, Jim could hear his words faintly echoing off the rocks as they climbed through the cavern. All three trolls stared at him with shocked expressions. Even some of the few passing trolls gave him weird looks.

Draal blinked, then suddenly dropped him. Jim crumpled to the ground and lay still, wheezing, too petrified to move.

Blinky was the first to recover, instantly running to his side. Probing hands checked for injuries, and upon finding none, carefully helped him to his feet. When Blinky spoke, his voice was low, “How would you know this?”

“Uh, I—” Jim stammered hoarsely, gaze falling to the ground. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I saw it happen. Two trolls, under the bridge. Kanjigar, a-and . . . someone else. It was raining, and they were fighting. And talking. They were arguing about something, I-I don’t remember what. Then I heard screaming, and . . .”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, because the only thing that filled his mind was what came _after._

“Who was the other troll?” Draal demanded, and Jim’s attention snapped to him, because for a moment he’d almost forgotten the azure troll was standing there, looming.

“I don’t . . . I heard Kanjigar say a name, but I can’t _remember—”_

A hand landed on his shoulder and he looked up to find Blinky at his side. “It’s clear the memory troubles you. You don’t have to continue.”

It was then that Jim realized his hands were trembling violently. He clenched them into fists and took a shaky breath, trying to calm down. The images of that night remained.

“If this is true,” he heard Blinky say, “it changes everything. But who would do such a thing? Who _could_ do such a thing?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Draal spat. “Because when I find them, I’ll cast them into the Deep in pieces. Their remains will _never_ be found.”

Draal glowered at Jim. Aaarrrgghh stepped closer, weary, but did nothing more. Jim stood strong, holding the azure troll’s fierce gaze, Blinky’s firm hand on his shoulder grounding him.

“I still don’t trust you, and I have no reason to believe your words are true. Yet, I get the feeling you’re not lying,” Draal said. He leaned in closer and pressed a single meaty finger to Jim’s chest. “But if I discover you had a hand in my father’s death, I will beat you into dust with your own limbs.”

Then he turned to Blinky and curled his lip. “Don’t be a fool. Get. A. Gaggletack,” he growled. He gave Jim one last piercing look.

Blinky and Aaarrrgghh stared stiffly at Draal’s crystalline back as he took his leave, ambling down the street further into the market. Jim released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Blinky chuckled nervously. “Pardon Draal. He’s, uh, in mourning. Clearly. He’s rather intense these days.”

“Angry,” Aaarrrgghh supplied.

“Yes, and ang—well, he’s _always_ been a tad bullish.” At Jim’s silence, he glanced at him cautiously. “Are you okay?”

“Blinky, was I wrong to stop Draal from killing that human?” Not that he wouldn’t do it again in an instant.

“You were wise to obstruct Draal. A human’s death would have only invited a scrutiny we cannot afford. More so, I’m impressed you got away alive—he’s not called Deadly for nothing. Did he hurt you?”

 _Oh yeah._ Jim shrugged, “No. I ran, actually. After the human got away.”

“Another smart choice. Seems you _do_ use your head from time to time. The same cannot be said about Draal, unfortunately. I am curious as to why you would endanger yourself for a human’s sake?”

Jim scratched nervously at the fur on his neck. “Because . . . I’ve been on the surface for most of my life. I’ve spent a lot of time around humans—more than I’ve spent around trolls, actually. I shared the world with them for so long, and I just . . . couldn’t stand there and watch one get killed like that.”

“But . . . you could watch a fellow troll get killed?”

“No, I—I was so _scared_ and . . . confused. I froze, and then I ran. But after what I saw under the bridge, I knew I couldn’t watch it happen again. Not even to a human.”

The two trolls were silent. Blinky appeared lost in thought and Aaarrrgghh occasionally glanced between the two as he watched the exchange. Eventually, he scooted closer and nudged Jim’s shoulder with his fist.

“Jim brave,” he rumbled, a proud smile on his face. Jim beamed at the sudden show of affection from the burly troll.

“Indeed,” Blinky said. “And . . . perhaps I was wrong to fetter you to a life so far removed from the one you’re comfortable with. If your home is above ground, then, well. I shouldn’t keep you from it.” He gestured to Aaarrrgghh. “Aaarrrgghh—the horngazel, if you would.”

Aaarrrgghh nodded and dropped the little crystal into Blinky’s upturned palm. Jim watched with wide eyes as Blinky turned to him and pushed the horngazel into his hands with a smile.

He blinked down at the little crystal cradled in his palm. He met Blinky’s gaze, astonished. “Really?”

“Why not?” the old troll chuckled. “If it’s as you say, then the danger isn’t on the surface. Just . . . be careful, lad. And check in with me often. You’re still my ward, and you’ve plenty to learn.”

“I will, Blinky,” Jim said with a grin. “And thanks. For everything.”

“Leaving?” Aaarrrgghh said suddenly. Jim turned to find the big troll watching him with sad eyes.

“Yeah,” he answered, and was surprised it hurt to admit. “But I’ll be back.”

“Soon?”

He breathed out a laugh. “Of course, man. Every night, promise.” At least until he found a way to cure himself. “You can show me the Forge tomorrow.”

Aaarrrgghh’s face relaxed, seemingly eased by his assurance. Then he gave a big toothy smile. “Gyre exit. Safer.” He beckoned with a hand and turned around, lumbering slowly down the street towards another deserted district. Jim followed, wondering what a “gyre” was.

“Jim.”

He paused, turning to find Blinky watching him, something curious in his six eyes.

“Why would you spend your days on the surface and your nights in Trollmarket? Instead of the other way around?”

Jim shrugged. “Guess I would miss the sun.”

He pocketed the horngazel and hurried to catch up with Aaarrrgghh, oblivious to the very startled troll he left behind.

* * *

Jim’s heart was in his throat.

It was late—almost morning, according to his phone. The weather was calm and the open sky twinkled down at him with the handful of stars that peeked through the light pollution. There was hardly any wind, and the air was pleasant from a warm day.

Yet, despite all these comforts, nothing could ease his roiling stomach.

He stared at his house from where he sat on Toby’s roof. The windows were dark from vacancy since he was abroad and his mother had left for work many hours prior. A slight desire to go home and hide away hovered at the back of his mind, or even return to Trollmarket for the distraction, but he knew this conversation was long past due.

Jim’s finger hovered over his phone, the screen alive and bright and awaiting his command. Slowly, he navigated to his contacts and selected Toby’s name from the list. But he hesitated.

There would be no going back from this. Toby would probably never look at him the same way again, assuming he didn’t flat out reject him. It might change their relationship forever—or it might change nothing. It didn’t matter, though. It wasn’t about Jim anymore. Toby deserved to know what he’d seen that night under the bridge. He deserved to know what drove his best friend to such violent ends.

And to be completely honest, Jim wasn’t sure he could stand to be alone with this secret any longer.

He hit the call button and pressed the phone to his ear, holding his breath. It rang, and rang, and rang, and for a moment he both feared and hoped that Toby would ignore him, or was mercifully asleep. It was ungodly early, after all, and any normal person who wasn’t a troll would be tucked away in bed.

Except Toby had hardly slept lately, if at all.

Despite knowing this, Jim was startled when he heard Toby’s voice answer instead of the voicemail.

_“Sup, Jimbo. Can’t sleep either?”_

Jim’s voice caught in his throat. For a second, he couldn’t breathe.

_“Jim?”_

He forced himself to exhale slowly. “Tobes, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

_“Woah, dude, are you sick again? Your voice sounds . . . weird.”_

Toby’s voice cracked on the last word. It made Jim pause a moment. “No, just—” he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you free right now?”

 _“Well, yeah, unless you count the fact that I should be sleeping.”_ Toby chuckled humorlessly through the phone. He sounded so tired. _“Uh, so what’s up?”_

“I need to talk to you in person. Like, right now.”

_“Jim, I don’t think—”_

“It’s really important.”

Silence on the other end. _“Hmm. Well, I guess I could sneak you in. You’re home right now, right?”_

“I’m on your roof.”

_“You’re—wait, what?”_

“Toby, I _need_ you to promise not to freak out. Okay?”

_“Dude, you’re starting to make me nervous.”_

“Just promise me you won’t freak out. You have to say it.”

Another pause. This one was much longer. _“Okay. I promise not to freak out.”_

“Alright, then, just . . .” Jim ran his fingers through his hair, bumping against his horns. God, was he really doing this? “Just don’t scream.”

_“Why would I scream—”_

Jim hopped from his perch and dropped in front of Toby’s window. In Toby’s defense, he didn’t scream. His mouth was frozen mid-sentence, startled out of his train of thought, eyes wide with shock and confusion.

“Because you might be surprised by what you see,” Jim answered ruefully into the phone. Toby jerked back to reality and stared at Jim’s contact picture, then looked back to the creature standing in his window, then back to the picture—

 _“Jim,”_ came his surprisingly steady voice through the speaker, _“why are you wearing a devil costume?”_

Jim sighed heavily. “It’s not a costume, and I’m not a devil.”

A pause. _“Tiefling?”_

“No—”

_“Gargoyle?”_

“Toby, it’s _not a_ _costume.”_

 _“Well, what_ else _am I supposed to think?! That what I’m looking at is_ real?! _That—that my best buddy’s some kind of . . . some kind of_ thing _now?!”_

Toby was starting to freak out. Jim could hear how his breaths quickened, and saw the hand holding his phone trembling. Jim had to work fast to calm him down. “Tobes, take it easy. I can explain.”

 _“I can’t handle this right now._ _You better say psych or I swear to God—”_

“Can you let me in so we can talk about this?”

Toby’s lips pressed together and tightened, face nervously pinched as he considered the request. His eyes flicked over Jim’s shoulder to briefly gaze at the dark house across the street before, with clear reluctance, reaching for the window.

The latch clicked and Jim hung up before squeezing himself through, his horns catching only once or twice before his feet found the floor. Toby had retreated to give him a wide berth, standing at the opposite end of the room by his door, and looking very much like he suddenly regretted his decision to comply. As Jim straightened, Toby’s eyes only widened further as they kept climbing to hold his gaze. After all, Jim had insisted it was him, and naturally Toby had expected something Jim-sized, not something a whole foot taller.

Toby’s room felt a hell of a lot smaller all of a sudden. He had a feeling Toby was thinking something similar. Silence stretched between them, and it was so suffocating Jim found it hard to breathe.

When Toby spoke, his voice was heartbreakingly small. “If this is a joke, it’s not funny—”

“It’s not a joke, just—I know why you’ve been acting so out of it. You saw something in the canals.”

Toby blanched.

“And it tried to hurt you. It scared you. And now you can’t stop thinking about it.”

“H-how do you know about—” And then his mouth clicked shut. “I wasn’t crazy. That _was_ you.”

Jim started, because he hadn’t expected to hear _that._ “What?”

“Oh my god, I—I remember that huge thing coming at me and then suddenly it wasn’t and then there was another one and it told me to run, and it said my name! And it sounded _so much_ like you, but it was so dark and I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me—”

“Toby, hold on—”

“—like I was about to die so my brain convinced me I was hearing a friend’s voice as like a comfort or something, I don’t know, and I thought I was going crazy or I imagined the whole thing to begin with but no! That happened! That was really _you!”_

The following silence rang in Jim’s ears, and Toby was heaving by the end of it. A moment passed before he realized his friend was glaring at him.

“What the _hell,_ Jim?!”

“Just let me explain—”

“I’ve been so far gone in my own head trying to make sense of what happened that night, I thought I’d go insane! It’s been keeping me up at night!”

“You think I haven’t noticed?! Every day, I have to watch you drag your feet like a zombie because you decided to shut out the whole world instead of talking to _someone_ about what happened. I’ve been worried _sick!_ Even Claire’s been upset by how dead you’ve been acting. Why did you hide this from me?”

Toby’s face twisted in anger. “Why did _I_ hide this from _you?!_ Why did you hide _this_ from me?!” he cried, gesturing furiously at all of Jim. Flinching, he lowered his voice, remembering his sleeping grandmother a floor below. “This is bullshit. I’m supposed to be your wingman, dude.”

“Toby, _look at me._ How could I just explain this to anyone? I look like an extra from _Narnia._ My skin’s hard as stone, I have horns, and I’m _blue._ I’m a living, breathing, del Toro-esque nightmare. In what universe do I reveal myself and everything’s peachy?”

“I have been there for you through _everything._ I failed health class sophomore year on purpose just so you wouldn’t have to retake it alone. I carried your stuff for you after you broke your leg biking in sixth grade. For fuck’s sake, I was even there to keep you company after your dad left when you were five!”

“Do _not—”_ Jim jabbed his finger at Toby, his words riding a throaty growl, “—bring my father into this.”

Toby shrunk away, startled, anger instantly vanished. Jim felt his own temper evaporate and he dropped his gaze in shame. With a quiet sigh, he leaned back against Toby’s desk and crossed his arms. The silence between them was thick.

“I’m sorry,” he heard Toby say quietly after a moment. “That was out of bounds. I’m just processing. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know. I . . . I’m sorry, too. I know it’s hard.”

“I thought you trusted me, but you didn’t even give me a chance. When have I ever not believed you?”

Jim raised a sardonic eyebrow. “You didn’t believe my story about waking up in the middle of town in a pile of garbage with no cast, no memory, and no shoes.”

Toby opened his mouth but no sound came out. Then he pursed his lips, defeated. “Okay, my bad. I thought maybe you were high on pain meds or something. I didn’t think you were for real.”

Another quiet moment passed. “I’m sorry for not telling you. I was too scared. I still am.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of you . . . y’know. Of you hating me.” Jim’s voice lowered until it was nearly a whisper. “Or, you being afraid of me.”

He could feel Toby’s stare, but he couldn’t bear meeting his eyes. He’d thought ripping off the band-aid would finally make things less painful, one way or another, but this was like a knife to the heart. Probably for both of them.

Jim heard Toby’s door rattling and he glanced up to find his friend taking a seat on the floor, his back pressed to the door. He was looking in Jim’s direction, but lower than his face, or sometimes just over his shoulder. Apparently, eye-contact was difficult for him too, and Jim wasn’t sure if it made him feel worse or not. “So, uh,” Toby began with a short gesture, “what is all this, exactly?”

“I’m a troll.”

A pause. “Oh, come on. You’re not _that_ ugly.”

“No, that’s—Toby, that’s what they’re called. That thing that attacked you? That was a troll.”

Toby thought for a moment, his expression troubled. “It wasn’t a bear that attacked you that night, was it?” he muttered, and though it was phrased as a question, it was clear he already knew the answer.

The scars on Jim’s arm itched. He nodded, “Also a troll.”

“You saved my life.”

They finally met each other’s gaze. Toby was looking at him like he was some kind of messiah, but Jim didn’t feel very heroic. He shrugged. “I would never let you get hurt. You know that.”

“So, what happened with Steve . . . this is why you’ve been acting so differently, isn’t it? Why you’re so all over the place, and acting all macho. What, do you have like super powers or something?”

“Not exactly. I’m just . . . a little less human.”

More like a _lot_ less human. Those words might have come from his own mouth, but they stung bitterly.

His voice was a little hoarser when he added, “It sucks, and it’s really confusing sometimes. I didn’t mean to do what I did to Steve, and I wish I could take it back. Shoulda just let him hit me and been done with it.”

“Ha. I don’t think he would have dared mess with you if he saw you like _this.”_

Jim frowned at Toby’s humored chuckles. “How can you joke about this? Does this not disturb you?”

“Well, yeah, I’m still totally freaking out inside, but let’s focus on some good things here. Like, dude! You’re totally stacked!” Toby pushed himself to his feet and walked over, a wild grin on his face. “I mean, no wonder you dropped Steve so easily when you’re packing guns like these!”

“Toby, if I had hit Steve like this, it probably would have killed him.”

“Oh.” Toby looked Jim up and doubt, thoughtful. “So, do you hide it? How are you hiding it?”

“It goes away when the sun comes up, and then it comes back at sunset. I can’t control it.”

“So _that’s_ why you’re always in a hurry to get home before dark. How does that work?”

“. . . Magic?”

Toby nodded, accepting that answer as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Wild. Do you have night vision?”

“W—you’re seriously okay with this?!”

“Dude, I’m in shock. Let me have this before it wears off. So, can you see in the dark or not?”

Jim stared at his friend. Then, a tentative smile pulled at his lips. “Yes.”

“So cool. And are your eyes phosphorescent? Is that why they glow?”

“Uh, I don’t know—”

Toby grabbed Jim by the face and pulled him closer to examine. “Oh, man, you weren’t kidding about your skin being hard. It’s like shrink-wrapped shale. So cool, _so cool._ And the horns are awesome, actually. Are they heavy? They don’t feel like keratin. More like sandstone. Or granite? Neat! Wish I could grow facial hair like this, too. I’d look good with a beard. Dude, my dentist would _kill_ to take a look at your teeth—"

He suddenly stuck a finger inside Jim’s mouth and Jim shoved him away with a disgusted face. “I’m trying not to develop a taste for people, thank you.”

“Wait, you’re not gonna eat me, are you?”

“No!”

“Well, that’s a relief! We can stay friends,” he grinned. “But why are you so big?”

Jim shrugged, “Man, I don’t know. They’re all kind of big. I’m actually really small in comparison.”

_“They?”_

“Yeah, there’s . . . a lot of them, actually. Underground. That’s where they live.”

“Underground? Where underground?”

“. . . Right beneath Arcadia.”

There were a few beats of silence where Toby was struck dumb. With clear disbelief, he asked, “How is it no one knows about these things if they live _right beneath us?_ Nobody’s ever seen any until like, now?”

“Actually, I don’t think that’s totally true.” Jim pulled out his phone and dug through his image library. “Eli might be less crazy than we thought.”

He brought up a picture of the ransacked campsite—which he’d returned to in his relentless pursuit to track down any trolls—and showed his friend. Toby’s face shifted from confused to understanding to horror as Jim flipped through the photos of destroyed camp gear stained with the grayed remnants of spattered blood.

“Exactly how dangerous are these things?” Toby asked nervously.

Jim replaced his phone. “I don’t know for sure. If they were truly predatory, I think we’d be seeing more fatalities around town, and it would probably be more obvious what happened. But people are just declared as ‘missing’ from time to time. It feels like they mostly attack when provoked.”

“Yeah, okay, _provoked?”_ Toby scoffed. “I didn’t do shit to that nasty monster.”

“Yes, you did.” At Toby’s questioning look, Jim elaborated, “Those rocks you were digging in? Those were troll remains. They turn to stone when they die. You took a piece of that dead troll and pissed off his mourning son.”

“How the _hell_ do you know that?!”

“Cause I met the son, and he wasn’t happy that I stopped him from pounding you into ground beef.”

Toby stared, bewildered. Then he suddenly appeared uncomfortable and hurried over to his backpack, which was discarded by his bed. “I totally forgot about this thing,” he said as he pulled out the little chunk of stone. “This is from a dead guy?! Ew, you can take it.”

He shoved the little rock into Jim’s hands and quickly pulled away, shaking out his fingers like he’d touched something unsanitary. Jim held the rock up—it was triangular and sharp at one end, and he assumed it to be a tooth. Or maybe a claw. Either way, Draal would probably be thrilled to get it back.

“So, they’re sentient then? And they talk?”

“Tobes, my man. There’s a _lot_ I have to tell you.”

Toby didn’t prompt him to continue, and Jim glanced over to find Toby staring at him. Or, rather, at his arm, where his scars glistened in the moonlight shining through the window. They weren’t white while he was a troll, but rather a much lighter blue, and looked almost crystallized.

“Could that have happened to me?” he asked quietly. “What’s happening to you now? Could that have been me too?”

Jim stared at his hands, at the eight digits that mocked him instead of the familiar ten. “I don’t know. I don’t get how this works yet, but I’m looking. Trying to figure out how to fix this. I don’t . . . I don’t want to stay this way forever.”

Toby walked over and hopped up on the desk top, sitting next to Jim. He elbowed him good-naturedly. “Well, however long it takes, you can count on me having your back.”

Jim almost couldn’t believe his ears. “You’re really okay with this? Toby, I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to stay away. I don’t know how dangerous I am like this. The longer it stays, the worse it seems to get. I’m scared of what I might do in the future.”

“And that’s why you need a partner to keep you in check! We’re best buds, Jimbo. I don’t care if you look like you belong in _Elder Scrolls._ I’m not letting you deal with this alone.”

If words could fix everything, Toby’s came pretty damn close to feeling like it. Jim hadn’t realized just how desperately, _desperately_ he needed to hear that. For how relieved he felt, a thousand tons could have been removed from his shoulders. He sagged with a fervent nod, eyes screwing shut to stop the sudden tears that threatened to spill—because how could he argue when that’s what he really wanted all along?

Toby gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “So. Tell me more about these trolls.”

Jim gave him a watery smile. “I’ll do you one better.”

He told Toby about Trollmarket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thus we are past the first hurdle
> 
> yeah don't expect many illustrations from me. rendering out images for chapters is a lot of work even when i'm lazy at it, cause i don't have a lot of free time outside of my job, so it's unlikely i'll do this often unless i really want to visually depict something. maybe i'll post links to sketches in the future to kind of give you guys an idea what i'm thinking or how i'm imagining things
> 
> also you guys aren't getting anything prettier than first draft sketches for these pictures. i hate lineart so much and refuse to do it
> 
> and this is like the second time i've ever drawn toby. i'll figure it out eventually :)


	11. Mild Sleep Deprivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim gets a taste of what it feels like to be in college.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's up kings it's october somehow and shit's already wild
> 
> nothing too exciting in this chapter. mostly some setup for later stuff

No matter how hard he tried, Jim couldn’t seem to keep his focus in class.

He was distracted, there was no arguing it. The weight of his nightly isolation was lifted thanks to his talk with Toby, and he felt infinitely lighter, but the friend in question was currently absent from school—a dental appointment that sucked up the morning, and an afternoon spent catching up on some much-needed sleep. Which meant that Jim was alone to deal with the crushing guilt that came with being near Steve.

The athlete did his best to avoid him, but there were classes they shared, like Spanish.

Steve hid away in the back of the class, far away from Jim, and out of everyone else’s sight so no one could look at the hideous bruises that still marked his face, or the splint over his nose. Worst still, whenever Jim tried to shoot a glance in the boy’s direction, hoping to convey his regret through his face . . . Steve would quickly look away, too intimidated to meet his eyes. It was a version of Steve that Jim never knew could exist, and somehow was worse than the athlete’s usual bully self.

It felt so . . . wrong. Like Jim had flipped a hierarchy on its head—and, as a result, inadvertently flung himself to the top—and now everything was out of whack. He’d earned a cold sense of respect from his peers, and it gave him nothing but dread.

Jim turned back to Señor Uhl to try and focus again. Words filtered through his ears like thick mud, and before long, his vision blurred and he rubbed furiously at his eyes. It was something that’d been happening all day, like he was stuck in a daze he couldn’t seem to shake himself from, and it was making paying attention really difficult. Whenever he attempted to listen and retain some of the lecture, his teacher’s words would get lost in the fog.

Maybe he was getting sick. The weariness had started the previous afternoon but had vanished upon becoming a troll, so it’d slipped his mind. Then he’d gotten home from Trollmarket that morning and it’d started up again in earnest, making him feel lightheaded, unsteady on his feet, and lacking in alertness. After weeks of hyper vigilance, it was very discomforting.

He jumped as the bell rang, the sound piercing straight into his skull and rousing the dull headache he’d been suffering off and on. With an irritated exhale through grinding teeth, he flipped his textbook shut and shoved it into his backpack.

“Class, when we meet next week, I want to see progress on everyone’s _Azteca_ culture papers. I expect a reasonable amount of headway to be made by then,” Uhl declared by way of dismissal—and might as well have been muted for how much Jim heard him. Jim shouldered his bag and stood, a hand on his desk for balance. Once the dizziness passed, he slowly ambled for the door, eyes squinting at the floor ahead.

“Mr. Lake?”

He paused near Uhl’s desk, who was frowning down at him with crossed arms. It took a moment to remember to make eye contact, but upon seeing his instructor’s scowl, he wished he hadn’t bothered.

“I see I’ve failed to hold your attention today. If my methods of instructing bore you, perhaps you can enlighten me on how I may improve.”

There wasn’t an ounce of sincerity in his voice. Jim really wasn’t in the mood for any sort of encounters with whom was by far his least favorite teacher, so he shook his head. “No sir,” he mumbled. “Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

Uhl’s brow crinkled as he regarded Jim curiously. “Are you feeling all right? You seem tired.”

 _Ha._ Jim couldn’t remember what tired felt like. It’d been so long since he’d last felt the need to sleep. “I’m fine. Just not my best day.”

The Austrian man hummed, not entirely convinced, but not willing to press. “Very well. You may leave.”

Jim nearly bumped into Steve on the way out the door. They both paused and stared at one another, and for a second Jim thought he’d finally get his chance to speak with the boy about what happened, but Steve almost immediately dropped his gaze and hurried into the hallway. Jim watched him disappear with lead in his gut, then sighed miserably.

The halls were busy as students rushed to their lockers for next period. Jim trudged through the crowds, head swimming, ignoring the many sidelong glances he received. He didn’t bother maneuvering around oncoming students—rather, he left it up to them if they wanted a collision. Fortunately, his new reputation was practically biblical, and people parted like the Red Sea to accommodate his dragging feet.

Toby should be proud—Jim had _definitely_ made his mark by now. It just wasn’t one he wanted to claim, and really wished he could trade in for his old faceless existence. Having this many eyes on him, most of which stared as if he were a bomb of volatility waiting for a hard-enough push to explode, was not comforting in the slightest. They were like needles under his skin and he hiked up his shoulders, painfully self-conscious.

The hallway dipped a little and Jim drifted to the side, nearly forgetting his footing. He shook his head and everything righted again.

He stepped out into the courtyard. The sun was a little too bright, and it made his head throb. All he yearned for was the comfort of night and to be embraced in cool darkness—to lose himself in the wonder of Trollmarket and Blinky’s mind-numbing lectures, so that he may momentarily forget about the problems the sun brought.

He almost didn’t register Claire standing by his locker. It took a few seconds of staring before it clicked in his head that, yeah, she was there. He also wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing and he wasn’t sure he could muster up the energy to care either way.

“Hey,” she greeted him quietly when he neared. Jim slowed, feeling hesitant, because the last time she’d spoken to him involved a lot of bad feelings.

After a moment of consideration, he relented. “Hey,” he said back, placing his hand on his locker to steady himself before opening it. The contents of the locker stared back, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what he’d been intending to grab.

“Toby didn’t show, huh?” she asked, crossing her arms and leaning against the lockers, right where Toby’s was placed.

“He was at the dentist. His grandma let him skip the rest of the day, so he’s at home now. Probably sleeping.”

“Well, that’s good. I’m glad he’s sleeping. Sure looked like he needed it.”

“Yeah, he did,” Jim nodded. He blinked once really hard and the binders finally registered. He swapped his textbooks. “I got him to talk to me, actually.”

“You finally got him to open up? What was he so stressed about?”

“Oh, you know . . . high school. College. The rest of our lives. Just been really bugged out by the immediate future looming over our heads.”

“Oh, god, he’s got that right,” Claire muttered under her breath, sounding a bit sullen. Jim glanced at her—there was a slight pinch to her brow as her eyes wandered in thought—and wondered what _that_ was about. He also remembered she was supposed to be mad at him.

“Why are you here?” he asked, before mentally slapping himself for sounding so harsh. Her face reflected his thoughts when she turned back to him. “I mean, talking to me. You’ve been avoiding me. I figured you didn’t want to be friends anymore after what happened with Steve.”

Claire frowned and dropped her gaze, as if she wondered the same thing herself. Jim shut his locker and mirrored her posture, leaning on the door as he waited.

“What you did to Steve,” she began slowly, “was really disturbing. I don’t think I’ll ever get those images out of my head. I’m sorry for avoiding you, but I was really upset.”

“I hate myself for it, you know.” She met his eyes again, and she seemed sad he’d say such a thing. He shrugged. “Hurting Steve. Hurting you—and God knows who else with what I did. I can’t forgive myself, and honestly, I’m not sure I deserve to.”

Claire didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes were on his face, but they were distant, as if she was considering his words. Eventually, she sighed. “I thought a lot about what happened, and you know what? That was so _unlike_ you. You’re not someone who hurts people like Steve is. You _care_ about the people around you, especially your friends. I mean, I get it—you were protecting Toby. If there’s someone out there who can push anyone to their breaking point, it’s definitely Steve. If not for how badly the whole thing ended, I think it would have been a super sweet gesture.”

He blinked, surprised. “Wow, really?”

“Sure. I think you were really brave to stand up to Steve. Not a lot of people are willing to do it. Or anyone, really. Not that I think he deserved _everything_ you did, but—well, let’s face it. He’s had it coming for a long time. Maybe this’ll be his wake-up call.”

Jim chuckled. “Yeah, maybe. After three years of him stepping on everyone, I guess it was only a matter of time before someone snapped. Just didn’t think it’d be me.”

“I didn’t expect you to know how to fight.”

“Me neither. I just—I don’t know. Let my anger take over.” He sighed, remembering that awful encounter. A lot of it was a blur but he recalled the dreadful feeling of bloodlust fueling him, pushing him towards darker actions. “And I _never_ want to fight again.”

“Mr. Strickler straightened you out though, right?” She smiled when his brow drew together curiously. “I saw him drag you away. Being the favorite nets you both sides of the coin, huh?”

“Oh—yeah. He really had me by the ear. Gave me detention for the rest of the month.”

“He threw you at Ms. Janeth for free labor, didn’t he? I’ve noticed you working alone around the auditorium.”

“Yeah, but it’s fine. I deserved it. Honestly, I owe him one. He really helped me out. And at least I still get to watch you guys rehearse.”

“It’s not the same without you and Toby causing a riot backstage. Kind of hoping everything goes back to normal soon, even if you almost pushed Ms. Janeth on a warpath. At least Eli seems to enjoy being the King of Scotland in the meantime.”

Jim nodded—Steve had stepped down from his role temporarily while his face healed, too shy for any spotlights. Eli had offered to act as his stand-in while rehearsals continued. “Still don’t understand how Steve landed the lead. He’s not exactly . . . subtle.”

“Told you—not enough boys audition. Maybe that could have been you, had you been able to make it. I think you would have been a decent king. How’s your Scottish accent?”

“Not as bad as Toby’s,” Jim beamed, feeling dangerously light between Claire’s warm disposition and the fog in his head. For a moment, he felt faint, and rocked on his feet. Threatening to teeter over made him snap back to his senses as he caught himself.

Claire’s brow pinched with a hint of concern, and curiosity. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m uh—tired, I guess?” he offered, playing off Uhl’s assumption. “Listen, Claire, I am really sorry about the fight. I’ve just been dealing with some stuff lately and the whole thing with Toby kind of pushed me over the edge. Not that I’m using it as an excuse, I just . . . I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I _know_ you’re sorry,” she said, a patient smile on her face. “That’s why I’m standing here now. But I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”

He followed her gaze and found Steve hunched in the shadows of the building, scowling at everyone who passed him by. He was alone, as he had been for the last couple days, his friends nowhere in sight. Whether they’d abandoned him or he’d simply distanced himself was not clear.

Jim sighed. “I know. I’ve been trying, but. I don’t think Steve’s ready for a conversation yet.”

“Give him time. He’ll come around.”

Jim shrugged and turned back to Claire, who was a much more welcoming sight. A comfortable silence fell between them, and for a moment, they just gazed at one another. The clamor of passing students was background noise, faded into the back of his mind like quiet television static. Maybe it was his stupor that made him brave enough not to look away. Claire lost her nerve first and finally averted her eyes, cheeks dusted pink as she bit her lip to hide a smile.

All he could think about was the look she’d given him after the fight. How upset she’d been. How unnerved Toby had looked. How terrified Steve was of him now. His mood plummeted to join his heavy heart in its pit of despair and he swallowed thickly, a miserable sigh catching in his throat.

Who was he kidding?

Without a word, he wrestled his locker back open, blindly digging through supplies, feeling Claire’s curious eyes on him. Finally, his hand located what he was looking for, and he pulled out the concert tickets he’d been sitting on for days.

“I feel like I could do better, though,” he rasped, pulling the tickets out and tugging them taut—they were a little wrinkled from being shoved between binders. “Look, I’ve, uh. I have these tickets to the concert this weekend. After everything that happened, though, I just feel like they belong to someone more deserving than me.”

Despondently, he pressed them into her hands and pulled away, watching how she glanced at the strips, and how her eyes widened with a sharp inhale, before flicking back to him.

 _“You_ have tickets to the Papa Skull concert?” she breathed. “Oh, my god. Jim, they’re like, my favorite band. They sold out, so I couldn’t—”

“I know. And there’s two of them, so, you can bring a friend. Or not. They’re yours now, so you can do whatever you want with them. Take it as my way of saying sorry for making you watch all that horrible stuff. I hope you have fun.”

Jim smiled tightly as he shut his locker and shouldered his bag, offering a half-hearted wave before turning away and heading for his next class, leaving a shocked Claire behind. His gait was slower and his feet dragged a bit more than before, but he was content knowing she could choose to forget about the awful things he did, if only for an afternoon.

He’d really thought normalcy could still be an option for him. The last thing he needed was to drag someone else into his mess—least-deserving of all Claire.

Jim nearly made it into the building before someone grabbed at his arm, stopping him fast. He turned around with a frown and found Claire staring back at him, the tickets in one hand, the other firmly wrapped around his forearm. Her fingers gripped against his scars. She seemed to notice and promptly released him.

“I want you to come with me,” she said.

“Come with you where?”

She brandished the tickets with a roll of her eyes. “To the _concert,_ dummy. You gave me two tickets and said I should bring a friend. Well, you’re the friend I want to bring.”

Jim wasn’t sure he heard her correctly. _Friend?_ He’d been certain he’d ruined that beyond repair. Was his groggy mind playing tricks on him? He turned to face her fully, confused. “Claire, you’re free to ask anyone. Like, literally anyone.”

“Yeah, and I’m asking _you._ Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because of everything I did, and—”

“We just went through this. I don’t blame you for what happened, and you’re clearly beating yourself up about it way more than you should be. You’re not a freak, Jim. You’re human. You’re allowed to make mistakes.”

If only she knew how _human_ he really was. But the fierce look in her eyes was making it really hard to argue—when he tried looking away, she put her hand on his face and pulled him right back.

“Listen to me. I _forgive_ you. Maybe you can’t forgive yourself just yet, but I do. I also think you deserve to have a little fun after all the grief from this week. Don’t make me beg.”

God, she was stubborn. It was hard not to admire. Her determination was just enough to pierce through his low spirits and leave him touched in a way that made his chest ache. Even despite all he’d done, he was still _wanted?_

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he sighed through a smile. “Just . . . hold on to them for me. I feel like they’re in safer hands with you.”

Her expression brightened. “Is that a yes?”

He shrugged noncommittally, as if he wasn’t totally elated on the inside. After all, how could he say no to those eyes?

Claire surprised him by pulling him into a tight embrace, making him tense briefly before his sluggish brain caught up and reminded him to relax. When she pulled back, her grin was so dazzling it made his breath catch in his throat. Then her warmth faded as she pulled away to stuff the tickets in her bag, leaving him a bit dazed. But his heart was singing and he felt lighter than air.

Actually, he felt a little _too_ light. He swayed and Claire noticed in time to grab at his shoulders to steady him, her smile now replaced with a frown. “Jim?”

He blinked—a little too hard, a little too long. Everything sounded muddled, and . . . far away.

“What’s going on with you?” he heard her ask, her voice now replaced with mild concern. Jim squinted as she fell out of focus. The courtyard appeared to be slowly capsizing and it made his stomach roll.

“Um, I’m, uh—” he slurred, not able to find words through the fog in his head. He stared straight ahead, unseeing, as his surroundings grew fuzzier and fuzzier until all the shapes seemed to spill together. The hand Claire waved in front of his eyes didn’t register in his mind.

Blackness crept into the edges of his vision. Everything tilted rapidly. He heard a scream.

Then there was nothing.

A second later, he jerked back to alertness with a gasp.

He grimaced as a sharp pain suddenly throbbed at the back of his head. Groaning, he reached behind and found plush resistance, but when he opened his eyes, they immediately snapped shut from the harsh light overhead.

It took him a moment to realize his hand had bumped into the plastic pillow he laid on.

Wait. _What?_

Blinking, he squinted against the light and eased himself into a sitting position, reaching for the tender spot again. He felt eyes on him and glanced up, staring blearily at the slowly focusing form of Mr. Strickler, who was sitting nearby with phone in hand.

“You’re looking well,” the teacher jested lightly with a small smile.

“What happened?” Jim asked hoarsely. Tiredly. His eyes roamed the room and he recognized where he was—and it utterly bewildered him. “Wha—why am I in the nurse’s office? _How_. . . no. No, I’m in the courtyard, I’m—I was _just there_ a second ago!”

“So, you don’t remember.”

“Don’t remember _what?”_

“Oh, nothing to panic over,” Mr. Strickler said as he lowered his phone. “You merely fainted is all.”

“I _fainted?”_

“It would seem so. Claire came running into my office, white as a sheet, and when I returned with her, you were unconscious in the courtyard. Earned yourself quite the bump to the head, too. Thankfully, the fall wasn’t serious.”

Jim drew nothing but blanks to corroborate the man’s claims. “How many people saw me like that?”

“I’m afraid you drew quite the crowd. It was between periods, after all.” Mr. Strickler’s eyes crinkled with amusement at his pinched expression. “Why does that cause you such worry? It’s not as if you haven’t drawn crowds before.”

“It’s _embarrassing,”_ Jim hissed into his hands—because the last thing he wanted was another thing to be remembered for. “And I’m not proud of what happened with Steve either.”

“Well, to me, it seems you have difficulty keeping eyes _off_ of you.”

He ignored the comment. “How long was I out?”

“Not long. Less than a minute, I believe. Though, you’ve been in and out of consciousness for the better part of an hour.

“An _hour?!”_

“In fact, this is the longest you’ve been awake. What could have caused this? Claire mentioned you appeared a tad unsteady on your feet today.”

Jim glanced around, remembering she’d been with him last he remembered, but she wasn’t in the room. “Where is Claire?”

“I sent her off to class some time ago after assuring that you would be fine. I’m sure she’ll want to hear it from you personally, though, but that can wait. Now, do you know why you might have fainted?”

Jim pressed a hand to his forehead, his conversation with Claire murky until it grinded to a sudden halt. “I don’t know. I’ve never had this happen before, and I feel fine now. I was just talking with Claire, then boom. I’m here.”

“Have you made any changes to your diet recently?”

Aside from being a troll at night and eating everything a human _couldn’t_ eat? “Not really.”

“Are you taking any new medications? Neglecting old ones?”

“I’m not on any medications.”

“Are you getting enough sleep?”

Jim opened his mouth, paused, then closed it in thought. “I don’t think that’s the problem.”

Mr. Strickler regarded him curiously but didn’t press. He glanced at his phone before his eyes returned to Jim, apologetic. “I’ve notified your mother of this.”

 _“What?”_ Jim exclaimed. “Oh, _no._ She’s going to _flip.”_

“Oh, I assure you, she’s well past that point, if our brief conversation was anything to go by.”

 _“Why_ would you contact her? You know I don’t want her to worry—”

“Jim, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you need to go home and get some rest. She’s coming to pick you up.”

He fisted his hands into his hair with a sharp exhale. “This is the last thing I wanted. The school day’s almost over—I could have made it.”

“Listen, I know you’re frustrated, but you must understand. As a doctor, your mother has an obligation to your wellbeing, but more importantly, as a _mother,_ she has a right to know when her son has been hurt.” Mr. Strickler’s voice softened, lowering. “You can’t control everything, Jim. Sometimes you must accept help from others, no matter how difficult it may seem. That extends especially to your mother.”

Jim sighed, finally relenting. He relaxed back onto the couch and rubbed at his aching eyes. “I know. You’re right. Thanks for . . . always looking out for me.”

The man smiled warmly. “I only hope there are no more fainting spells from you in the future.”

Jim hoped that too, since his mother was quite frantic upon arrival. She calmed down pretty quickly after checking his head and determining herself that the fall hadn’t been serious enough to warrant a trip to the ER. That didn’t stop her from leading him back to the car with a worried hand on his back, and he really didn’t have the heart to pull away.

“Something’s gotta change, Jim.” she said once they were in the car. “I was afraid something would happen but I didn’t think it’d get this bad.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re not _sleeping,”_ she snapped, and he was surprised by how _angry_ she sounded. “I may not be home half the time, but I’m not blind. You haven’t touched your bed in _days._ You never come home in the evening. I’ve heard you moving around downstairs in the dead of night. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I—”

_“Jim.”_

He flinched and shut his mouth, knowing it was futile pretending like everything was the same. The only real surprise was that he managed to keep her off his case for this long.

His mother took a calming breath and lowered her voice. “This isn’t normal. Not for someone your age, not for _anyone._ More importantly, it’s not healthy and it’s affecting your behavior. You’re having mood swings, you’re acting out, you’re getting into fights at school—”

Jim felt like his heart stopped. “How do you know about that?”

She shot him an unimpressed glare before turning her eyes back to the road. “Steve came to the clinic with a broken nose while I was on shift. His mother was hysterical.”

Oh of _course_ that would happen. He was so stupid. Jim eyed her hesitantly and asked, “If you knew I got into a fight, why didn’t you say anything until now?”

“Because I was hoping _you’d_ bring it up to _me.”_ The look she gave him was pinched—and painfully sad. “Since when do we keep secrets, Jim? Have I done something to lose your trust?”

Guilt pooled into Jim’s gut and he immediately answered, “Of course not!”

“Then why won’t you tell me what’s happening with you? If you’re struggling, I want to help.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

“It’s my _job_ to worry about you, and nothing you say can convince me _not_ to worry. Please, Jim. Don’t shut me out for my sake.”

“I’m _not,_ I’m just—” Jim sighed in exasperation. He leaned his forehead against the window, staring at the passing buildings and pedestrians. “This is just something I need to figure out on my own.”

His mother didn’t reply. The silence was telling enough and it cut Jim’s heart in two. He didn’t have an answer for her that she’d understand or that he was willing to give. It hurt to keep her in the dark—even more so now that she was noticing his strange habits—but it was for the best, he kept telling himself. He knew what he was could be dangerous, and the world below even more so.

If she was worried _now,_ well . . . there’s no telling what she’d think if she found out what he got up to at night.

Eventually, she broke the silence. “Alright,” she said quietly, but her voice was cold. “If that’s what you want to do, then I won’t force you to tell me if you don’t want to. But you _will_ sleep tonight.”

Jim highly doubted that. “How can you be sure?”

And it was then he noticed that they were pulling into the lot of a pharmacy. His mother parked the car before giving him a pointed look and stepping out, shutting the door, and leaving him to gawk after her in the passenger seat. For some reason he got the feeling he was witnessing a show of arms. His mother disappeared into the store before reappearing several minutes later with a small bag in hand. Jim scrambled to catch it when she tossed it his way while climbing back in the car.

“That should help a little.”

Jim reached into the bag and pulled out a small bottle of what sounded like pills. He frowned at the label. “Aren’t these types of drugs prescription?”

“You bet.”

“I don’t have any prescriptions.”

She pulled out a small piece of paper from her purse and dropped it into his lap. “You do now.”

In utter disbelief, he stared down at the prescription slip, filled out in his mother’s own neat handwriting with her not-so-neat signature at the bottom. “How long have you been planning this?!”

She ignored him and pointed at the bottle. “Take one of these shortly before bed, and do not take more than one. It takes about an hour to kick in and will keep you out for a good seven, so don’t go to bed too late or you’ll be miserable tomorrow. And I want to _see_ you take it. Got it?”

A rather nasty objection caught in his throat and he shoved it back down with some powerful force of will. “Yes, ma’am,” he grumbled. Whatever, he thought. Whatever it took to get her off his back. With all the chemicals he’d swallowed as a troll, to no effect, he doubted it’d even work on his altered physiology, anyway.

“Also, you’re grounded.”

His eyes whipped to hers. _“What?”_

“You kept your fight at school from me. I’m more disappointed in you for not telling me what happened than the fight itself. I understand that Steve is a difficult kid, but I need to know when something like that happens.”

Jim slouched in his seat and crossed his arms. “How long?” he muttered sourly.

“A week.”

The concert immediately came to mind and his chest tightened with anxiety. It was in just a couple days. “Mom, please—”

“This isn’t up for discussion.”

He stopped. They eased back onto the road and the only sound in the car for a while was the hum of the engine. Jim pulled his phone out and opened his messages with Claire, reading through her most recent texts asking if he was okay. With a heavy heart and slow fingers, he ensured her that he was indeed okay. Her response was almost instant. It was clear by her relieved words that she’d been worried. It made him smile.

“I was going to take Claire to a concert on Saturday,” he said quietly, his eyes still on his phone. “Papa Skull’s the band. Ever heard of them?”

He saw his mother glance at him from the corner of his eye. “You’ve never expressed any desire to go to concerts before.”

“And I still don’t care to. Claire likes the band, though.”

“You asked her to go?”

“Yeah.”

“And she said yes?”

He nodded, despite it happening the other way around. His mother fell quiet. A few moments passed before she spoke again.

“What time is the concert?”

“Noon, but I think they can last a while, so we might have been out till the evening.”

Another beat passed. “I . . . suppose your grounding can start on Sunday.”

Jim looked at her, hope blooming in his chest. “Wait, really? Seriously?”

“But if I compromise on this, you’re getting two weeks instead of one. Is that fair?”

“Yes, _yes,_ oh my god, Mom, _thank you,”_ he breathed, grinning madly. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

He was too busy texting Claire how he couldn’t wait for the concert on Saturday to notice the soft smile his mother gave him. “Don’t be so sure about that.”

* * *

“How much longer must I _wait?”_

“Acting too quickly could court ruin,” Vendel reminded his king. “And let’s not forget we are still without the support of the other clans.”

The sound of Gunmar’s claws slowly scraping valleys into his throne was grating. “Forget the other clans,” he snarled. “My warrior general was felled on human ground. Retribution is at hand. We _will_ have our justice.”

“And justice will be dealt accordingly, but I urge caution. Arcadia is our mask. Without the combined strength of all trolls, we’d only be exposing ourselves to the rest of the world.”

Bular growled from where he stood in the shadow of his father’s throne. “Why do you stall our march for the surface, Elder?”

Vendel rolled his eyes. “Have I not made it quite clear that marching on the surface so soon would only bring destruction? If Kanjigar were here, I’m certain he’d agree—”

“Kanjigar is _not_ here,” the Gumm Gumm prince snapped, “because the same worthless creatures you defend killed him.”

“I’m _trying_ to prevent Trollmarket from being compromised, which would put all trolls at risk.”

“You urge us to cower like worms in the dirt. It makes us look weak.”

“Do us all the favor of keeping your wagging tongue _inside_ your mouth, you brute. Impatience is not befitting of a prince.”

Bular snorted hotly but Gunmar’s rumbling voice cut off any retaliation. “My son is correct—you’re stalling us, Vendel. Why do you fear the humans so?”

“Would you prefer a repeat of the war that cast us underground to begin with? That’s what this hastiness will grant us.”

Dictatious, who stood nearby with his handful of informants, flared his nostrils. “Must you be reminded of who _started_ that war?!”

“Enough,” Gunmar waved his hand. “If you doubt my decisions, Elder, then advise me.”

Vendel nodded and took to the center of the room. All eyes lay on him. He locked gazes with his king, who lounged, patiently waiting, in his throne of blackened Heartstone. “New developments have come to my attention. I have it on good authority that Kanjigar was not slain by human hands.”

Gunmar inclined his head. Bular tensed next to him, but didn’t speak. “Then whose hands are to blame?” Gunmar growled.

“Troll hands.”

The room filled with nervous, clamoring voices. Dictatious’ milky eyes were wide, and his informants shook their heads in disbelief behind him. Gunmar and Bular exchanged glances.

Then, after a moment of silent consideration, the king spoke. “How can you be certain?”

“The evidence suggests a struggle between two trolls, not troll and human. There is no residue from magic where Kanjigar’s remains rested. Our priority should be to deal with this threat to our internal security before looking further.”

“You think Kanjigar’s killer resides in Trollmarket?”

“It’s not a certainty, but it’d be foolish to ignore the possibility. Assuming this to be true, enacting justice will be much easier. If a wizard _had_ killed Kanjigar, they’d be expecting our retaliation. We’d be walking into a den of death.”

“I am not concerned about Merlin’s _pets,”_ Gunmar snapped. Then, he relaxed. “But perhaps you’re right about ensuring our own security. I will think on the matter. Council dismissed.”

Vendel bowed his head before taking his leave. The other trolls followed him out of the Heartstone. Dictatious, using one of his informants as a guide, made for the exit as well.

The pair of guards suddenly crossed their spears, obstructing the path and making Dictatious jump with a startled whimper.

“Not _you,_ Dictatious.”

The anxious troll was led back to the king’s throne and left to cower beneath the furious gaze of Trollmarket’s Underlord. The troll who’d been his guide stepped out of the way and crossed his arms, observing the exchange in calculated silence.

“How. Did. This. _Happen?”_ Gunmar spat at the remaining trolls. His burning gaze landed on the prince at his side. “You told me you were _alone.”_

“I was, Father! The night was young, and I had Kanjigar isolated. There was no other troll, but—” Bular suddenly froze.

Gunmar narrowed his eye. “But _what?”_

Shaking his head, Bular said, quieter, “I swear on your throne, Father. Kanjigar and I were the only trolls under that bridge.”

“Well, clearly you did a poor job covering your tracks!” Dictatious snapped.

“And _you,”_ Gunmar snarled as he turned his attention back to the four-armed troll. “You were supposed to clean up this mess. What’s your excuse for such a miserable oversight?”

Dictatious trembled. “I tried, Great Underlord, but Vendel’s precautions made things impossible! An old, blind troll like me could never slip past his awareness. My insufferable _brother,_ on the other hand, whom he continuously favors—"

“We should kill the goat and be done with it,” Bular growled.

“That would be unwise,” Dictatious’ informant interjected. The troll—a spindly green male cloaked in leather—stepped forward. “Vendel has the respect of Trollmarket. His death would only cause distress amongst the trolls and bring a level of suspicion you could not afford.”

“Now _you_ stand in our way, Stricklander? Shall I flay the false skin you wear off your pathetic and unholy form? Kanjigar’s death should have rallied all trolls under a banner of vengeance, and if it wasn’t for that old goat’s fear mongering, we would be storming the surface by now.”

“It seems Vendel was wrong,” Stricklander mused, unfazed. “Impatience suits you quite nicely.”

“That’s _enough,”_ Gunmar snarled. “I hear enough bickering in council; I will not have it outside, too. The impure is . . . _right,”_ he muttered with some disgust, the admittance a sour taste on his tongue. “Vendel’s death would only bring complications. Our only choice is to play along with his plan for now, at least until a culprit is named.”

Bular started. “But, Father, Vendel will be looking in the wrong place. He won’t _find_ a culprit.”

“Then we’ll make one ourselves.” Gunmar watched the trolls exchange curious glances before him. “I will not sit in this Heartstone forever. Allow some time for Vendel’s theories to spread wariness through the market, then find a troll—I don’t care who, and I don’t care how, just _find_ a troll and make him look _guilty._ And watch as his brothers turn against him.”

“Yes, Underlord,” Dictatious bowed hastily. The other two followed his lead, albeit with more grace.

“And if I hear of any more _grave_ errors, I’ll harvest your Heart energy and cast you into the Deep myself.”

Dictatious, sensing dismissal, scurried for the exit on his own, nearly running into one of the guards before finding his way out. Stricklander offered his master a deep bow before turning to follow, mind already working through his obligations on the surface.

He did not miss how Bular fidgeted, nor how the prince stood apart from his father as he stared at the floor with troubled eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so a lot more elements are going to come into play from here on. that means a lot more action and mystery and angst to look forward to in the near future, and it only speeds up from there. i'm really excited to start introducing higher stakes as the plot slowly unravels
> 
> not much else to say, so, until next friday :D


	12. Late Riser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes things have consequences. Sometimes those consequences turn out to be more serendipitous than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blah really wish i coulda uploaded this sooner today but i've been busy. SUCH an annoying work week
> 
> this chapter was such a slog to write cause it's so much dialogue. so much. hopefully it reads smoother than how it was written lol

Jim’s eyes blinked open.

For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. It was dark and everything smelled like dirt. He was lying on his side, curled up, on cold hard rock. His body felt like lead.

His mind was slow to process and he sat up with an unhappy moan, the feeling of drowsiness so foreign to him that his limbs wouldn’t respond properly. A thick string of saliva trailed from the corner of his mouth to his shoulder and he wiped it away with a grimace. His eyes took longer than usual to adjust and, after a moment, he realized he was staring at a wall of chiseled rock. Turning around revealed bundles of books and an opening with light streaming in. He dragged himself on his hands and knees before climbing out of the hole he was in and stumbling onto a cave floor, knocking books on his way down.

It was Blinky’s cave, he remembered. He was standing in one of the back rooms where there were more trinkets than literature, and he hissed in pain when he stepped on a particularly sharp curio lying on the floor. Shaking his head and rubbing at heavy eyes, Jim braced himself along the walls as he picked his way through the tunnel and into the main library.

He had to squint when the brazier’s light hit him. Why did he feel like this? He felt slow, and clumsy, and— _tired._ He felt _so_ tired, and his senses felt . . . muted, like he wore an invisible blanket of cotton that muffled his perception. It was as disorienting as it was discomforting. In stark contrast, he could _feel_ too much, and the stone floor was shockingly cold against his bare feet.

“Blinky?” Jim called into the empty room, eyes scanning for signs of the troll, or his larger companion. Neither were present, and he received no response from any of the adjacent rooms, which confirmed that he was all alone. How unusual—the trolls never left him on his own, and this was the one time he truly desired a learned eye to help him understand why he felt so strange.

The library was quite a mess again despite recent efforts to organize, as was characteristic. Some books were strewn at the bases of their shelves, as if they’d been collateral in hasty grabs for other volumes. Also a common sight. But what caught Jim’s eye were the ones scattered on the table. After many hours of aiding Blinky in his library—frustratingly, agonizingly, and with a _lot_ of assistance—Jim was now pretty familiar with the covers in the troll’s collection, but these he did not recognize.

They weren’t there last he remembered, which meant Blinky wasn’t too far. Jim peered at one of the open texts, ignoring the Trollish in favor of the pictures. A slender figure was depicted on one page, clad in brilliant armor and radiating energy like a sun—though instead of rays of light, the strokes of ink gave a more deliberate impression of dark tendrils that stretched outwards, as if to spread and consume. The composition was in such a way to make the figure feel deific, holy. Godlike. Yet, they looked almost . . . human? But trolls had no love for humans, so he was probably mistaken.

The other page showed a ghastly figure wielding a spined staff that twisted like a striking snake, expelling black fumes from its maw. This was definitely a troll, as was obvious by the curling horns and pointed claws, but they were dwarfed considerably compared to the figure on the opposite page, and it was obvious which was drawn to more easily capture the eye.

Jim wondered what information Blinky was looking for in this particular book. He stepped closer to turn the page—and his foot landed on something solid and sharp. With a pained howl, his legs buckled and the object slipped out from under him and sent him crashing to the floor, bringing a slew of books with him. He rubbed at his head where it’d cracked against stone with a hiss and wished he could stop giving himself brain injuries. Pushing himself upright, he cracked his eyes open.

So many of his questions got answered the instant he looked down his body. It didn’t immediately register in his mind that he was staring at one too many toes on his foot. What _did_ register was that his foot was not the color it should be, which was blue, and suddenly his lethargy was replaced by icy _terror._

 _“Oh my fucking god!”_ he shrieked under his breath, having just enough sense to keep his voice down so as not to draw any attention from outside Blinky’s cave, because that would get him killed faster than he probably would be. His mind raced to figure out how this could have happened, what could have sapped his awareness so thoroughly as to make him simply _forget_ about the risk of being trapped in Trollmarket as a human.

Then it finally occurred to him: the sleeping pill his mom had him take the night before.

Holy _shit,_ he was _going to die._

He finally pushed his luck too far. Jim, in his panic, jerked to his feet, kicking the object he’d tripped over and sending pain shooting up his legs as his toes crunched against it. He lost his balance again and dropped back to the floor with a grunt. His foot stung and his hands immediately wrapped around it, but when he felt wetness on his fingers, he drew them back to find blood coating the tips.

Shit, he’d cut himself on . . . what’d he kick, anyway? Jim craned his neck and caught a glimpse of—was that a _crossbow?_ What the hell was a crossbow doing in Blinky’s cave? He used his good foot to shove it away before trying to stand again, his hand landing on one of the fallen books at his side and pulling his attention.

It had landed on its spine so that it fell open, exposing contents from somewhere in the middle. What truly snagged his interest was the picture of what was inarguably a human, but unlike the figure from the previous book, _this_ one was depicted as something undeniably foul. The artist’s distaste clearly showed in the furious strokes.

Huh, Jim thought. He hadn’t seen humans in any of Blinky’s books, as most seemed to be recounts of troll history or epics of troll lore, almost as if humans were removed from existence. Picking up the book, he got to his feet and flipped through the pages, stopping only when he saw something that made his heartrate pick up a little. On one page, another illustration of a human, but on the other, a troll in a similar stance, as if mirroring the first. Between the two, indicators that implied at some sort of cycle, or transition, aided by numerous annotations scribbled all over.

Swallowing hard, Jim placed the book back on the table and studied it closely. Thanks to Blinky’s vain attempts at teaching him the basics of the language, he could make out the word “troll,” as well as a few articles, and . . . that was about it. So, the book told him nothing, but now he was immensely intrigued, if not a bit hopeful.

This was the closest thing he’d ever found to his own condition. If it was recorded in a book, then that meant it was known. Maybe that meant . . . it could be fixed?

Did he dare get his hopes up?

His heart pounded regardless, and for a long moment, he forgot he was a human standing in the middle of a troll’s cave.

He heard footsteps and glanced up, entire body freezing in place when he noticed Blinky descend the stairs as he entered, his nose buried in a book, blindly walking forward while his eyes were preoccupied. He looked _so_ much bigger than Jim remembered. The smart thing would be to take advantage of the troll’s obliviousness and duck out of sight, but Jim was petrified with fear and as still as the stone table he had in a white-knuckle grip.

Blinky must have finally his stare because he suddenly looked up and instantly locked eyes with him. His face went slack. Then he screamed.

_“What on earth—?!”_

Blinky’s shock was enough to jolt Jim out of his paralysis—and just in time to avoid the book hurtling at him.

“A human in my library?! I’ll not tolerate an infestation within these walls!” the troll barked, grabbing every nearby tome he could get his stubby hands on and launching them in Jim’s direction. The expression he wore was surprisingly fearful, which was not expected considering the massive physical advantage he had.

Jim was forced to use the table as cover. “Oh my god, Blinky! It’s _me!_ Jim! Your ward! I’m _Jim!”_

Blinky halted, still brandishing a book in warning, and he stared at Jim as the words clicked in his head. “Jim?” he asked in a disbelieving voice, looking him up and down as if just noticing the similarities in clothing.

Jim nodded quickly, feeling relief slowly spread as he watched recognition creep into his mentor’s eyes.

And then outright fury. “What manner of trickery is this?! Deceit! Wicked chicanery! Such _rotten skulduggery!”_ Blinky snarled, resuming his book throwing with renewed vigor. “You played me for a dullard, but I’ll have the last laugh, you vile little beast!”

The violent mixture of confusion and fear as a terrible feeling in Jim’s stomach and he felt sick. “Blinky, _what_ are you—?!”

“I’ll not allow you to compromise the integrity of this sanctuary!”

_“What?”_

The cave suddenly shook and Jim’s and Blinky’s attention snapped to the cave entrance in time to see Aaarrrgghh barge in. “Heard—” He slid into the opposite wall and sent nearby rows of books tumbling to the floor, taking a moment to watch them hit the ground before refocusing. “Heard screaming.” His eyes fell on Jim and widened. “Human?”

“Aaarrrgghh! Apprehend this charlatan at _once!”_ Blinky demanded. “There’s no escaping, filthy scoundrel. You’ll either be leaving this cave with your limbs intact or traveling separately! Whichever occurs is entirely your choice!” Aaarrrgghh rumbled unhappily to Blinky before the four-armed troll turned and muttered, “I’m talking about the king’s soldiers. _You_ just block the exit.”

Aaarrrgghh mumbled an understanding, “Oh.” Then, a quizzical, “Where’s Jim?”

“Why, you’re _looking_ at him, my fair fellow. I had my suspicions, but the sanguine side of me ignored the signs. Alas, he fooled us both.”

Jim could hardly breathe. This was his worst nightmares come to life—he was trapped, defenseless, and worst of all, no one would ever know what became of him. Aaarrrgghh was big enough to swallow him whole if the brute desired it, and Blinky only needed an excuse to fetch the beastly guards that roamed the streets of Trollmarket.

His fear took over. Heart pounding in his ears, Jim quickly grabbed the crossbow at his feet and aimed it at the pair of trolls.

Aaarrrgghh immediately stepped in front of Blinky with a warning growl, his eyes flashing a malicious green in a way Jim had never seen before. Blinky, looking startled, and perhaps a little confused, threw up his hands as a means to pacify. He patted Aaarrrgghh’s arm and motioned for the burly troll to relax. The sound of Jim’s panicked breathing was the only thing that could be heard in the cave, and he watched with twitching eyes as the trolls exchanged wordless glances.

Blinky, hands still raised, cleared his throat and took a cautious step forward. “Now, Jim—”

“Stay _back!”_ Jim snapped, immediately whipping the crossbow at Blinky. The troll froze in place, though despite the weapon aimed in his direction, his gaze remained on Jim. Obediently, he retreated.

“I understand your hostility.”

“My _hostility?!_ You’re threatening to _have me killed,_ and I don’t even know why!”

For a moment, Blinky seemed at a loss for words. “I see now that I may have been a tad impetuous. Would you be willing to set the crossbow down so that we may resolve this in a more peaceful manner?”

“Why would I do that when it’s the only thing keeping you on that side of the room?” Jim felt some of the cold fear in his chest turn to frustration as the trolls again exchanged glances. His eyes briefly fell to the book sitting in front of him, still open to the page with the human and troll cycle thing. “Why were you looking up this stuff? Did you know what I was?”

Blinky’s eyes widened and he dropped his attention to the text. “Ah . . . well—”

Keeping the crossbow steady with one hand, Jim shoved the book across the table towards the troll. “Read it to me! _Read_ it! Tell me what it says!”

Now Blinky seemed a lot more unsure of himself. Aaarrrgghh stood back as Blinky nervously approached the table, making Jim move further away with every step forward, the cut on the bottom of his foot itching against the cold floor. A single stony hand brushed over the pages as six sharp eyes studied the contents. Then his gaze, wide and lost, returned to Jim. “I can buy that you cannot read Trollish, but to lack even the scarcest understanding of this subject is . . . beyond puzzling to me.”

“Blinky, please just—just tell me what it is.”

“This book is the most comprehensive collection of information regarding changeling magic to have ever been written. Changelings are trolls who can present themselves as wholly human.”

The crossbow shook in Jim’s trembling hands. “Is that what I am, Blinky? A changeling?”

Blinky drummed his fingers together, pursing his lips. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met such a strange troll before you, Jim. Your mannerisms were bizarre, your knowledge nonexistent, and at times some things you said were downright disturbing. So, when Draal advised me to acquire a gaggletack, why . . . wonder bloomed in my mind. Then, suspicion. I didn’t know what to believe, but it pays to be careful.”

“What’s a gaggletack?”

“A magical item that exposes changelings upon contact, though I doubt one is needed to determine that you are, in fact, _not_ one.”

“B-but you said they can be human _and_ troll—"

“Lad, changelings are ruthless, cunning, devilish creatures of foul magic. They are agents of chaos and harbingers of ill times.” Blinky gestured at him with a small smile. “You, on the other hand, don’t even have that crossbow nocked.”

Jim frowned in confusion before glancing at the weapon in his hands. The arrow was mounted, but sure enough, the string was at rest position between the iron limbs, entirely harmless. Even if it had been armed, he wasn’t sure he would have had the courage to pull the trigger.

“And for another, you’re standing exposed in the middle of Trollmarket. A changeling would never do such a thing, lest his sanity be absent. Not to mention how terribly ungraceful you are in general.”

Aaarrrgghh nodded in somber agreement. Jim flicked his eyes back and forth between the two—at Blinky’s tentative expression; at Aaarrrgghh’s curious one. The strength in him melted away with his hope, and the crossbow dipped toward the floor. “I just want to know what’s happening to me,” he whispered hoarsely. His eyes stung and he screwed them shut. “I just want it to stop.”

Blinky took a single step around the table. “Why don’t you put that down before you hurt yourself with it?”

Jim immediately tensed and re-aimed the crossbow out of nervous reflex, despite the weapon’s safe state. “No, don’t—don’t come near me,” he said quickly, backing up.

The troll _tsked_ and marched straight for him. “I’ve seen you in the Forge, and you’ve no proficiency with weapons. You’re more likely to cause yourself harm before you to either of us.”

He felt his back slap against the wall and lost his balance, the crossbow going wide as he threw an arm out to catch himself.

Firm hands, solid as stone, grabbed at his shoulders and side, stopping his fall. Jim stared up with wide and fearful eyes at the teal troll hunched over him, feeling his heart beating at his chest despite the stillness of the room. Blinky sighed and, using his one free hand, carefully pulled the crossbow out of Jim’s loose fingers before gently lowering him the rest of the way to the floor.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Blinky assured him softly, brushing dust off his shirt and smoothing it out. “I don’t think either of us are truly capable of such a thing. Aaarrrgghh is, as you know, a pacifist, and I’m—well, you know me. I’m more of a warrior of the mind. I just need to know: do you mean any harm to Trollmarket?”

When he spoke, his voice was quiet, “No, of course not.”

“Then you’ve nothing to fear from us. Goodness gracious, you’re bleeding,” Blinky grumbled, frowning at the smear of red on Jim’s foot. “And all over the floor. See what I mean about hurting yourself?”

There were indeed red prints where he’d been stepping. Jim chuckled weakly as the troll inspected the small injury. He’d never felt troll skin as a human—it was cold, but not shockingly so, like he’d expect stone that spent all day underground to be. He wondered if his other self was that cold.

“Well, I believe I can mend this with relative ease. It won’t do to have you bleeding out in my library!” Blinky laughed.

“Blink, it’s just a little cut. I’m fine. It probably already stopped bleeding.”

“Oh. Well, perhaps for the best. I’m hardly an expert on flesh injuries.” Blinky stood and offered Jim a hand, which Jim took gratefully. The troll easily lifted him to his feet. “I’m not even confident I have anything around that would help.”

“What, you don’t keep first-aid handy?”

“It’s not exactly necessary. Trolls don’t bleed, for starters.” Blinky paused and sized Jim up and down before placing his hands on his shoulders. “My, you are much shorter like this!”

“Not _that_ short,” Jim grumbled, pulling out of the troll’s hold. He stopped in surprise as a much meatier finger poked at his belly.

“And squishy,” Aaarrrgghh giggled, having somehow snuck his way to their side.

“ _And_ easily broken _,”_ Blinky stressed as he gave the brute a pointed look. Aaarrrgghh rumbled an apology and withdrew his hand. “Humans are quite fragile, and I imagine that extends to our Human Jim here. No roughhousing, lest you accidentally crush him.”

Jim looked back up at his troll mentor. “Do you know what I am?” he asked in a small voice.

Blinky dropped his gaze—though it was more with sadness than in thought. “Changelings are the only beings capable of transitioning between the two. If that is not you, then I do not know. Anything else is . . . inexplicable.”

Those words were devastating. If a troll as learned as Blinky could not come up with an answer, then he felt truly hopeless. He couldn’t even keep himself a secret from the trolls—how long before he couldn’t hide anymore on the surface?

“You thought I was a changeling,” Jim said. “What if I was? What were you going to do to me?”

The two trolls suddenly appeared uncomfortable. “Jim, you must understand,” Blinky began, “changelings are bastardized creatures that threaten Trollkind. Why, they were the catalyst for the war that forced us to migrate underground, nearly a millennia ago. They’re a most loathsome enemy.”

“So, you’re scared of them.”

“I . . . wouldn’t say scared. More to say, rightfully wary.”

“Uh huh.” Jim glanced back at the weapon lying discarded on the floor. “And the crossbow? Were you planning on shooting me with that?”

“No! No, of course not! Never.” Blinky crossed his arms and managed to hold a straight face for an astounding two seconds before breaking. “At least not without good reason. In self-defense, had it been necessary. I did say it pays to be careful—though, I certainly hadn’t meant to leave it lying around,” he chuckled warily. “But an apology is owed, and I’m terribly sorry if we scared you. We just didn’t quite know what we were dealing with yet. In fact, we still don’t!”

“I don’t either,” Jim mumbled. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

Aaarrrgghh took the opportunity to press his nose right up against Jim and deeply inhale, the intensity of it enough to pull at his shirt. “You smell like troll. _And_ human. So . . . mixed up. Almost can’t tell them apart.”

“Like he’s somehow both at all times?” Blinky offered.

“Or . . . neither?” Aaarrrgghh wondered. He sniffed at Jim again and snorted, shaking his head with unease. “Strange.”

Jim wasn’t a big fan of the topic and it must have shown on his face because Blinky suddenly placed a hand on his shoulder and gestured for the table. “Why don’t you tell us what you know and we can take it from there, lad.”

With a nod, Jim hopped onto the table and took a seat at its edge, facing the trolls. This way, he was a little closer to their level. They stood on either side of him, waiting with patient and curious expressions.

“During the day,” Jim began, “I look like this, starting at dawn. When the sun goes down, I look like . . . _that._ Like you.”

“You can’t control it?” Blinky asked.

“Not _when_ it happens, no. And it’s been going on for weeks.”

Blinky frowned, looking troubled. “Hmm. I think we know what sets you apart from changelings. A changeling can shift between human and troll at will in an instant. It’s one of the many things that make them so dangerous; you never know when a familiar face might belong to a foe. I just don’t understand this. A magic that can bridge between human and troll in accordance with solar phases must be powerful indeed, not to mention beyond the scope of any known arcane arts. What could have possibly caused this?”

The scars on Jim’s arm itched and his fingers instinctively moved to soothe them. The movement drew the attention of both trolls. “You know how I said I saw Kanjigar die? There’s some things I left out.”

He told them about how he came to be under the bridge during the moment of Kanjigar’s demise. He told them about the monstrous troll that’d chased him upon being discovered, and how he was nearly killed before escaping with a bitten arm. He explained the sudden illnesses, the physical changes, the new feelings.

How much it all scared him.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Blinky said. “As far as I can tell, you make for a perfectly healthy young troll.”

“But it doesn’t _work_ in the human world, Blink!” Jim replied. “Being like this is making me do things that humans aren’t okay with. _I’m_ not okay with it. For God’s sake, I can’t even sleep anymore!”

“What are you talking about? I found you tucked away in one of my storage cavities just hours ago, sleeping like a dormant antramonstrum.”

“Yeah, cause my mom _noticed_ me not sleeping and made me take some heavyweight sleeping medication so she’d have some peace of mind.”

“Well, when was the last time you slept?”

Jim opened his mouth to answer and stopped, because he wasn’t actually sure. He counted out the weeks on his fingers. “I don’t know, like a month ago?” He was surprised when both trolls went slack-jawed. “What? Do trolls even need sleep?”

“Yes!” Blinky cried in alarm. “Occasionally! We’re not lethargic creatures like humans, but my word, Jim! Everything needs its occasional rest, _especially_ youngling trolls! How is it you’ve gone so long without so much as a nap?!”

“Man, I don’t know. Being a troll ruined my circadian rhythm.”

“More like did away with it altogether, it sounds. Jim, however challenging sleep may be for you in your unusual state, you _must_ try to find time for rest. The body needs time to relax and the mind needs time to recharge. To rob yourself of the opportunity for both is going to have terrible consequences on your health.”

“Make you slow,” Aaarrrgghh supplied helpfully. “Tired.”

“But I feel f—” Oh, wait. He fainted at school yesterday. Okay, maybe not sleeping for four weeks straight wasn’t a totally solid plan. He _did_ feel so much better now. Somehow, his mom always knew how to fix something, even when she had no idea what was going on behind the scenes. “Okay, you might have a point.”

Blinky nodded. “Why not attempt to sleep while you're down here? Obviously we can’t have a human wandering around Trollmarket, lest total bedlam ensue. You’ll remain here in my library until night falls and you can safely find your own way home.”

Jim suddenly jolted upright, panicking. “Wait, what time is it?” He wrestled his phone out of his pocket and stared at his screen’s clock. “Oh, no _—_ I was supposed to be in school _hours_ ago!”

The trolls gave him blank stares. “I’m . . . afraid your concerns are lost on us,” Blinky said.

Jim huffed. “People are going to be wondering where I _am._ What am I supposed to say, that sometimes I hang out in an underground city with a bunch of trolls?”

“What about lying? You seem to be pretty decent at that.” Blinky’s smile disappeared as soon as Jim’s glare turned on him. “Right, well. I suppose we can get you up to the surface. Do you have any grievances with being bagged?”

“Being _what?”_

“You know. Stuffed,” Blinky made a stuffing motion with his hands, “into a sack? There are a number of ways we can sneak you out, but this is the most comfortable that comes to mind. Aaarrrgghh will carry you.”

Jim glanced at the burly troll, who gave him a big grin. He didn’t really have any other options so, with a roll of his eyes, Jim begrudgingly accepted. “Sure.”

Aaarrrgghh left to go find a big enough sack and Jim hopped off the table, dusting at his arms and shirt. He was filthy—a shower and a change of clothes were desperately in order. And maybe he should consider replacing his night wear with something _not_ falling apart.

“Do you plan on returning?” Blinky called over his shoulder, having moved away to dig through some of his belongings. “I understand if you might be uncomfortable now that your secret is known, but know that we will do everything we can to help you.”

Jim didn’t think he could fight the smile if he’d wanted to. “Wow. Thanks, Blink,” he said, voice rough with gratitude. “Yeah, I’ll—I’ll be back tonight. Always.”

He really couldn’t believe his fortune. First, he finds a confidante in Toby about his troll troubles; now he has a safe haven in Blinky and Aaarrrgghh. It’s like the universe was beginning to pay him back for all the pain he had to endure up to this point.

That glimmer of hope bloomed in his chest again. If anyone could find a solution to an impossible problem, it’d be Blinky.

The troll regarded him with six caring eyes, a similarly-warm smile finding its way onto his own face. “Of course. You’re still my charge, after all, human or not, and what sort of mentor would I be if I left you to struggle on your own?” He turned back to his searching. “Although, it might prove quite challenging figuring out how a troll of all things caused this. Come here, lad.”

Jim did as requested and Blinky straightened as he held something up to the light. “If the rising and setting of the sun dictates what form you take as you say, then perhaps this will prove useful to you.”

He held it out with a big grin, looking quite pleased with himself for having thought of it. Jim peered closely at the item, and upon feeling an inkling of familiarity, realized he recognized it from the night he met Blinky and Aaarrrgghh, when Blinky had pulled it out to check for the time while they’d been above ground.

Except at the time it had glowed a fierce ruby red. Now, the inset gemstone was blue—a cool, calming sapphire.

The item was entrancing. “So, what is this—some sort of magic clock?” He took it and weighed it in his palm, and for an instant he swore he felt his skin tingle where it touched him, but it was gone just as quickly. Small mechanical pieces made a pair of silvery hands tick in a slow, continuous sequence.

“Of a sort,” Blinky answered. “It’s an amulet enchanted to keep time with the sun, given to me by my brother some centuries ago. When both hands perfectly overlap, it means the sky is making its transition. Very useful for forgetful trolls who don’t want to get stranded on the surface. Or, in your case, so you don’t have any more surprises.”

Jim smiled guiltily. “Blinky, this is beyond helpful. You sure you don’t need this?”

“Ha! That old piece of rubbish? Please. Time-keeping artifacts like this are a dime a dozen. It’ll be far more useful in your hands.”

Jim pocketed the amulet just as Aaarrrgghh returned. The big troll held up a burlap sack, a proud smile on his face. “Jim sized,” he said. Jim groaned and Blinky gave him an affectionate pat on the back.

“One more thing before you’re off to the world of Arcadia,” Blinky added, giving Jim a knowing look. “Trolls _burn_ in sunlight. It’s deadly to us. You best keep that in mind to avoid future slip-ups that could invite the wrong attention.”

* * *

“Dude, _where_ have you been?” Toby hissed as Jim jogged up to him. “Did you go on some crazy troll adventure after leaving my house last night or something?”

Jim was _horrendously_ late. With his bike still out of commission, the walk to school had cost him way more than the walk home from the canals already did. It was nearly noon, and luck wasn’t as on his side as he’d initially thought, because he’d arrived between periods, meaning he’d just missed the previous one. If his truancy didn’t hurt him for this, the missed classwork definitely would.

“It’s been one hell of a morning, Tobes,” Jim muttered as he banged open his locker. “I might have fell asleep in Trollmarket.”

“What?! I thought you said you didn’t sleep!”

“I don’t! Well, not _usually._ My mom noticed and now she’s making me take sleep medication, but it kicked in, like, _super_ late because I slept through the morning.”

“Woah, woah, woah, wait a sec,” Toby tensed, eyeing him up and down like he couldn’t believe he was there. “And you’re _alive?!_ Did you like, ninja your way out of there or what?”

“No, see, that’s the cool part. The two trolls I told you about who basically adopted me? They’re fine with it, _and_ they want to help.”

“I thought all trolls wanted to turn humans into paste.”

“Not these two. They’re . . . not really ones for violence.”

Toby hummed, like he wasn’t sure he believed it. Hard to blame him after Draal. “So, what’s your plan now, Mr. Troll Whisperer? You missed half the day, along with all the assigned homework.”

“Don’t remind me,” he grumbled sourly. “Uh, what’s today? Is gym next?”

“Man, you’re _so_ lost today,” Toby mused, leaning against the lockers next to him with an amused grin. “It’s Friday, remember? We don’t have class again till after lunch.”

Jim rolled his eyes before shutting his locker with a slam. He made a “lead the way” gesture at Toby, who obliged with noticeable enthusiasm in his step. At least _someone_ was in a good mood—and definitely a welcoming sight after so many days of reclusive brooding. They headed to the cafeteria together.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Toby began.

“You have no idea how nervous those words always make me.”

“I’ve been thinking about how pretty freaking awesome it is that you turn into this big troll version of you—I mean it’s terrible, of course, but now that you can do all these really cool new things that _no_ human can achieve—”

“Do we have to talk about this here?” Jim snapped under his breath as they walked through the hall, passing swarms of students scrambling for their next class or heading to lunch along with them. Though, none seemed to pay any attention to their conversation.

“Relax. No one’s gonna take us seriously even if they cared enough to listen. I dub it the ‘Eli Effect.’ Anyway, back to what I was getting at. You’re really strong now, right? As a troll, anyway. What if . . . we started finding ways to put that to good use?”

“And now I really hate where this is going.” They entered the cafeteria and headed for their usual table—a little out of the way, thankfully. That at least put Jim a little more at ease while they talked about what was guaranteed to be a terrible topic.

“Here me out,” Toby urged when they sat down. He pulled out his phone and pulled up a site. “I found this blog online that Eli runs. It’s like an open forum thing where people can submit paranormal sightings around Arcadia, and it’s updated a _lot._ Eli really doesn’t mess around with this stuff.”

He handed Jim his phone and Jim scrolled through the blog, skimming posts. A majority were just paragraphs of theories regarding strange occurrences—boring—but a few included a grainy picture or two for visual reference. Not that those helped to make anything believable since it was impossible to make anything out. Why were these types of things always so noisy?

“Most of this is just dumb superstition,” Jim said as he handed the phone back.

“Yeah, okay, but a few of these are reasonable given what you’ve told me. People seeing strange lights at night, unexplainable property damage, missing pets, the occasional disappearing hiker? Any of this ringing a bell? Possibly of the troll variety?”

“Just get to your point.”

Toby beamed like he was about to propose the greatest thing since air conditioning. “We . . . can be Arcadia’s secret protectors! With Eli’s blog as a guide, we can track down whatever might be causing trouble and scare it away! We’d be like super heroes! Or, even better, vigilantes working outside the law under the cover of night.”

“Tobes,” Jim said patiently, “your plan would involve dealing with potentially dangerous creatures that can effortlessly kill you while solely relying on me to keep you safe. Remember?”

“I remember you taking on that troll under the bridge no problem.”

“No, _huge_ problem, cause he almost killed me.”

“But you didn’t die! I think you’re really selling yourself short.”

“And you’re insane.”

“Oh, come on. Think of all the people we could help! We’d be performing a charity. A public service! It doesn’t even have to be just troll stuff, either. Did you hear about those burglars who got arrested for breaking into Stuart Electronics a couple weeks ago? Already caught by the time the cops arrived and no one knows why. Front page in the newspaper. That could have been you!”

“That _was_ me.” Jim couldn’t resist smirking just a little when Toby’s mouth fell open in amazement. “I should probably come clean about Uhl’s truck, too, but that was an accident.”

 _“You_ totaled his truck?!”

“Technically, he hit me.”

“See?! You’re already a super hero!” Toby inhaled deeply and held his hands out reverently. “I bow to your awesomeness. Man, I have the _coolest_ friend in the world.”

It was hard not to be a bit proud. He _had_ felt pretty good about stopping those burglars, and even found some amusement at the confusion that followed those arrests. But the one thing that killed any desire to humor Toby’s plan was how underprepared he was to deal with a troll if they happened to run into one. Draal had come so close to killing him—it probably wasn’t a stretch that most could do the same if they were pushed far enough.

Jim noticed Claire walking over with her friends and immediately straightened, shoving Toby’s phone down to hide Eli’s conspiracy blog, and also to prompt him to shut his big mouth. Recalling their conversation from the previous day made Jim’s stomach flutter and he smiled a lot harder than he meant to.

“Nice of you to show up, Lake,” Mary said.

“What are you boys talking about?” Claire asked as she looked between them.

“Classified man topics. Like shaving, and Hotwheels,” Toby answered immediately. Jim dropped his face into his hand. “Girls don’t have the stomach for these kinds of things.”

“Girls shave too, Toby. You know that, right?” Darci replied derisively.

“I’m suddenly not that curious anymore,” Claire said while giving Toby a weird look. She turned back to Jim. “Glad you made it today. We still on for tomorrow?”

Jim perked up again in an instant. “Yeah! Yeah, of course. No changes in plans from me.”

“You cool with me picking you up around eleven? I know that’s kind of early but it’ll be easier to find parking.”

“Sure, yeah. That’ll work. The earlier, the better.”

She smiled. “Great. Just wanted to be sure. I have to get ready for a proctored exam for my dual-credit so I gotta go. I’ll text you later and we can work out the rest of the details.” With a departing wave, Claire headed for the cafeteria exit, her friends in tow. Mary turned to shoot him an encouraging thumbs up.

Jim glanced back at Toby, who was staring at him with fierce interest. Instead of acknowledging his questioning gaze, Jim said dryly, “Hotwheels? What are we, five?”

“I panicked. What’s Claire talking about and why don’t I know everything about it yet?”

Oh god. He totally forgot Toby knew nothing about the concert tickets Mary gave him. “Have you heard of Papa Skull?”

“Yeah, who hasn’t? They’re kind of a big deal around here. Don’t they have a concert at the convention center tomorrow?”

“Uh—yeah, anyway. She’s really into them so we’re going to the concert together. She asked me yesterday.”

Toby wheezed out a shocked gasp like it was the most unbelievable thing he’d ever heard in his life—which was just the slightest bit offensive and Jim’s face pinched in an annoyed frown. Then Toby glared at him in outrage. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Gee, sorry, Tobes. I’ve been a little preoccupied being a _troll at night!”_ he hissed.

“Excuses. You can’t leave a bro in the dark like that, dude. How are you gonna succeed without my expert tips?”

“I’m sorry, your what?”

“My professional dating advice? Obviously! I’m kind of a wizard when it comes to this sort of thing—not to brag, or anything.”

“Oh, my bad. I must have missed the countless girls lining up at your feet.”

“Aha, brave words for one who’s never even been on a date before.”

Jim scoffed. “An outing with two people. Not that difficult.”

“If that’s all a date is, then you and I have been on tons. Gimme your phone.”

“What?”

“Come on! I want to see the troll city.” Toby eagerly gestured with his hand and Jim rolled his eyes before sliding over his phone. With an excited giggle, Toby went into the photo gallery and scrolled through all the pictures he’d taken of Trollmarket. It was something he’d promised to do after his friend had begged him for a sneak peek at the magical society under Arcadia—inconspicuously, of course, lest Blinky ask questions. “Really digging this big guy. What’s his name again?”

“Aaarrrgghh.”

“Yeah, still not sure if you’re joking about that.”

He watched Toby grin down at his phone in amazement, every new thing earning some sort of vocal response of awe. He had to have taken a hundred pictures at least—there was just so much to show. He’d captured a profile of Blinky; Aaarrrgghh when his head was turned; the library; the streets of Trollmarket; some goblins; the Forge; the magma lakes at the bottom of the cavern; the Heartstone; and countless other things. He wished he could show him first hand how extraordinary the world below was.

But it was also extremely dangerous, and he couldn’t afford to forget that, as Toby seemed too quick to forget how disastrous the encounter with Draal could have been had he not been there to stop it. And to go out and hunt trolls or whatever other magical things that may wander around at night and provoke them on purpose? His friend was putting way too much faith in him.

Then again, if it hadn’t been for him, Toby would be splatter in the canals. Toby was alive _because of him,_ because he _chose_ to play the part of protector, even at the risk of his own life. The troll he’d seen the night of the auditions, lurking in the dark, had been far too close to Claire for comfort, and even though they hadn’t presented themselves as an immediate threat, who knows how the night might have ended had he not chased them off.

Toby was right—he did have it in him to stop these trolls from hurting people. It was what he vowed to do in the first place since he was stuck in this cruel situation. He might be the only one in Arcadia who could stand on equal ground to a troll.

It was just really scary.

But scarier still, a troublesome troll on the surface was not only a potential danger to individual people, but a threat to all of Arcadia. What if someone happened to capture a clearer image of a troll on camera and upload it to Eli’s blog? It only takes one troll to expose the rest, Blinky had said. One mistake. If that were to ever happen, Jim loathed to imagine what would follow.

He didn’t want to risk that.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

Toby glanced up, squinting at him in confusion for a moment. “What?”

“Hunt down trolls. That’s what you wanted, right?” Toby took a second to process before grinning like a madman, trembling with nervous excitement. Jim held up a finger, _“But._ I have conditions.”

Toby clasped his hands together and waited patiently. “Whatever you want, dude.”

“First, I’m calling the shots. I get to choose what nights we do it. I get to determine what we go after or when to disengage. Trollmarket’s in lockdown right now because of that troll that got killed, so the only ones who come to the surface are bored ones that snuck out. It’s one thing if they’re stealing something shiny, but I’m not letting you anywhere near them if they happen to be hungry.”

“Stay away from the hungry trolls. Solid rule.”

“Second, we’re staying out of the woods. Too easy for things to hide out there. We stick close to town where the lights are so you can at least still see. I can watch the shadows.”

Toby pursed his lips and nodded, still seemingly in agreement.

“And third, assuming we actually run into a troll, only I’m allowed to mess with them. You get to play reconnaissance from a distance, _way_ out of sight.”

“Aww, come on—”

“No way. I don’t want to risk setting any off. The worst I can do is probably annoy them until they leave, and even if they get angry, I can run away. You definitely can’t.”

With a dramatic sigh, Toby reluctantly nodded. Then he smiled. “Deal. We’re gonna hunt trolls!” he exclaimed under his breath. He scooted closer and threw an arm over Jim’s shoulders as he pumped his fist. “We’re gonna be super heroes!” He gasped. “We need code names.”

“No we don’t.”

“I’ve always wanted an alias. How about Stoneheart and his trusty sidekick Eagle Eye? Cause you’re made of stone and like, I’m your intel man—”

“Yeah, I got it. And definitely not.”

“You’re right—too on the nose. But don’t you worry, Jimbo, I’ll think of something properly worthy of the Secret Knights of Arcadia.”

Jim rubbed at his eyes tiredly, knowing he’d just signed up for a _major_ headache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO SO season 3 of kipo drops on monday and if you've never watched that show before you need to do so immediately because it's just so GOOD. post-apocalyptic mutant animal gangs and the most wholesome protagonist ever, plus jim's mom is a villain so it's basically got everything. not to advertise but it's actually one of the best cartoons i've ever seen, so if you're bored check it out
> 
> anyway till next friday :D


	13. A Lesson in Concert Etiquette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's expected to be a live musical performance ends up doubling as a horror show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya this is a little late. it's been SUCH a busy week and it was really hard to find adequate time to write, but this chapter turned out LOOONG (it's like 3x the length of the earlier chapters) so hopefully that makes up for the wait. i think i wrote like 80% of this on friday in one sitting. real adhd hours babyyyyy
> 
> hoping this is comprehensive cause a lot happens here and usually i have more time to look these over but i just wanted it out so i can start on the next one lol

Nervous was an understatement.

Jim knew he shouldn’t feel this way. He’d been alone with Claire plenty of times over the last several weeks and had been fine. Except, those times had always been spent dedicated to schoolwork and he’d been too distracted trying to understand mathematical concepts to really dwell over who was helping him. Any time out of school, well, Toby was usually also present.

It finally hit him that he was neck deep in something he’d wanted for so long, and it was about as shocking as a punch to the face. Now that he was alone to think about it, he realized he was exploring completely uncharted territory.

He wished he hadn’t gotten ready so early because now he was stuck with only his thoughts to keep him company as he sat at the bottom of the stairs, waiting. He didn’t even have his mother to distract him in the meantime because she was out on an errand run—and, actually, her being present would probably make it worse, anyway. Or she could have offered some life experience advice and saved his skin, if he’d had the courage to ask.

Maybe he _should_ have taken Toby up on those dating tips. Having something to laugh at would at least help put him at ease.

The sound of her car driving up the street alerted him long before the text did. It didn’t occur to him how tightly his nerves were wound until his phone buzzed on his leg and he jumped, knocking it to the floor with a loud clatter. Taking a second to just breathe and relax, he picked it up and read her message about having arrived.

This would be, without a doubt, absolutely hysterical to an outside perspective. He transformed into something monstrous and fearsome on a nightly basis and had essentially infiltrated a den of beasts whom only needed an excuse to level Arcadia—and here Jim was sweating over going on a date.

A date with someone he really, _really_ admired. God, he hoped he didn’t mess this up. He was seriously looking forward to a relaxing and normal day—for _once—_ but that was only going to be possible if he could just keep it together.

The amulet Blinky gave him was a comfortable weight in his back pocket, and an uncomfortable reminder.

Claire was waiting for him outside and looking at her phone, leaning against her car, which she’d parked at the curb in front of his house. Upon hearing him shut the front door, she looked up and smiled. Then her smile grew into something more amused and it filled him with dread, because it made him think he must have already done something wrong.

“Jim,” she began as he made his way over to her. He could hear the suppressed mirth in her voice. “You know this is a rock concert, right?”

That made him freeze in confusion, and his brain churned before it clicked. He glanced down at his clothes. “Too dorky?” he shrugged with a grimace. It’d been so hard to figure out what to wear because, for one, he wanted to look nice for her, but on the other hand he didn’t want to come off as trying too hard, especially considering where they were going.

The problem was Claire had such an intrepid sense of style and he hadn’t wanted to look dull in comparison, but he didn’t possess the knowledge to adequately match her. He’d settled for something simple—a short-sleeved maroon button-down over a dark shirt with a pair of slim jeans—but looking at her now made him think he’d definitely failed step one. With her ripped jeans and cropped jacket smothered in various band pins, all of her practically screamed how in her element she was.

She huffed out a laugh and shook her head. “It’s not a big deal. Besides, I can work with this.” Stepping closer, she unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way so that it hung free before skewing his collar. Then she surprised him by mussing his hair. “Not that _I_ have any problem with how you look,” she grinned, taking his hand and leading him to her car, “but you’re going to be glad you look less like you care when you get there.”

Her long bangs were pulled back behind her head in a short ponytail. Over the years he’d seen her try different things, but this was something new. He liked it. “I’ll trust the expert on this one,” he said, a little distracted.

They climbed in and Claire started the engine. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m kind of getting the feeling this is your first concert.”

This was a _lot_ of firsts for him. “I’m not much of a partier, if you can believe that.”

“Never would have guessed.” She shifted into drive and eased away from the curb, heading for the exit out of the neighborhood. “So, what convinced you to give it a shot?”

 _Mary Wang._ “Oh, I don’t know, just. Everyone seems to do it. Looks like fun.”

“Sorry if I took Toby’s ticket. It didn’t really occur to me, you know, at the time—”

“I hadn’t planned on taking Toby.”

That made her pause and she glanced over at him, her face unreadable. He kept staring ahead at the road in silence, letting her process on her own. The car felt smaller than usual. “Do you listen to Papa Skull?” she asked after a moment, and he could _hear_ the smirk in her tone, like she knew she had his back to the wall.

“I’ve . . . heard _of_ them.”

Yeah, that did it. Claire hummed in simple acknowledgment and turned back to the road, but the air between them had changed and there was a confident smile on her face, and they both knew the power balance had shifted entirely in her favor. He should have known better—she was simply too smart not to see right through him.

Now with that exchange out of the way, silence fell between them, and Jim felt the awkwardness he’d been dreading creep up on him. With nothing to distract him, save for the passing scenery of town, he was painfully aware of how restless he was, and one leg bounced like it had a mind of its own. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t figure out how to make it stop moving. Not until he pressed his hand down hard enough to force it.

“New look?” Jim asked, desperate to break the silence. She glanced at him in surprise, as if she hadn’t expected him to speak again. He pointed his chin at the top of her head and she touched her hair like she’d forgotten it was different.

“Oh—yeah,” she answered, looking a little self-conscious. Also not something he was used to seeing on her. “Just something I’m trying. Sort of a last-minute decision. What do you think?”

He kind of missed the hairclips. Their mismatched colors always felt playful, and made her seem youthful in a way that was more troublemaker than childish—which was in stark contrast to her exemplary reputation. This, however, was more mature, and nothing hid her face, which gave a sense of fearlessness and confidence that complimented her perfectly.

“I think it looks really cute,” he answered. His choice of words must have startled her because her cheeks darkened as she smiled in sudden delight, but she couldn’t meet his eyes. If he was being honest, _that_ felt pretty good, and the corner of his lips quirked from this small victory.

The rest of the drive still felt stiff, but at least he managed to keep just enough momentum in whatever topic she brought up to hold the conversation. The journey was painfully slow and his chest was tight with anxiety by the time they finally pulled up to the convention center. The parking lots were already packed with the town’s youth despite the earlier time, and as Jim received his first eyeful of what type of people attended these things—all frayed threads and dark colors—he realized he was doomed to stick out like a sore thumb, even with Claire’s efforts to tweak his style.

They were forced to park further away, but that did nothing to dampen Claire’s excitement. She was practically vibrating as she dragged him across the parking lot. Her eagerness made it hard to keep up but he sure tried, lest he fall flat on his face. “There’s way more people here than I expected this early but we can probably still find a spot close to the stage,” she said.

Oh, god. Jim wondered if his ears would still function by the end of the day. They slipped through the front doors and squeezed their way through the crowded lobby. “Any tips for not getting trampled?” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the noisy chatter.

Yeah,” she laughed. “Don’t trip and fall. You might think I’m joking, but—” Claire suddenly stopped and Jim ran right into her. She didn’t even seem to notice as she stood frozen with wide eyes. “Oh no.”

“What? What’s ‘oh no?’” Jim followed her gaze to the ticket gates where a sharply-dressed woman was conversing with—oh, not _him._ The young man from the café stood at the end of the lobby, all infuriating charm even from a distance, somehow looking less out of place than Jim despite the usher uniform.

And he was manning the ticket gate.

“My mom’s here,” Claire muttered, sounding quite unhappy about this fact. It was then that Jim finally noticed who the woman was—Councilwoman Nuñez. “She doesn’t know I’m here. I didn’t think she’d actually _be_ here.”

“Your mom a fan?”

“As if. The city’s sponsoring the show to raise money. They pay for the stage production and get all ticket proceeds, and the band keeps whatever’s made from selling merch. My mom was the one who organized the whole thing but I thought her job was done after everything was set up.”

“Right, okay. And she . . . didn’t set aside a ticket for you?”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Please. She doesn’t even know I _like_ the band.”

Jim frowned. “You didn’t tell her?”

“Well, considering the number of shirts and posters I own, it just seemed like something that didn’t need saying.” Her tone, usually warm and bright, was cold, and Jim picked up on the edge of resentment to her words. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye but she didn’t elaborate on that point further. She groaned. “This is gonna be a nightmare.”

That was a feeling Jim could get behind, since the only way into the actual event would involve going through _both_ of them.

The café-ticket guy noticed them approaching first and smiled as he offered his full attention. “Here for the band? Wait a tick—I remember you two from the café. Lady Macbeth, is it?”

Claire pointedly ignored the stare from her mother and beamed at him. “It is. I thought you worked there?”

“Oh, this is just a one-time gig. These big shows always overwhelm the staff so the center hires temp workers to help things run more smoothly. Just an extra bit of cash in my pocket. I’ll be back at the café tonight.”

Jim was able to watch the patience in the councilwoman’s face drain in real time until the point of cracking. “Claire, what are you doing here? And _what_ are you wearing?”

Claire, who wasn’t wearing anything super outside her usual means, spoke with a level of control she had to be faking. “I like the band, mom, so I got tickets to the show. And everyone else is wearing the same stuff.”

“Not your friend here. He’s dressed _much_ more sensibly,” her mother argued with a gesture Jim’s way. Then her eyes narrowed in a frown. “Who _is_ this boy, anyway?”

“A friend from school,” Claire answered quickly before Jim could (not that he’d manage a single word under with the woman’s severe gaze). “Mary and Darci had other plans so I brought him instead.”

“Is this the same boy you’ve been bringing over after school? Your father told me—”

“Mom, I was _tutoring_ him. _No es gran cosa.”_

They both slipped into Spanish, which made the conversation sound much more intense than it probably was, and Jim exchanged uncomfortable glances with the ticket guy. He was starting to understand why Claire hadn’t mentioned the concert, or him, to her mother. Feeling the need to ease the growing tension between the two, he stepped forward and held out his hand in greeting. “Uh, James Lake. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Nuñez.”

Claire gave him such a murderous glare out of the corner of his eye he almost flinched. Her mother gave him an equally icy look, but took his hand and shook it after a moment of brief consideration. She immediately returned to ignoring him and turned back to Claire. “Well, so far your idea has paid off,” she said. “Full house. Sold almost every seat within days. I just hope these kids don’t completely trash the place.”

“Mom, why are you here? I thought you were just handling the organizing.”

“I was, but as soon as I found out the . . . _demographic_ this band appeals to, I decided to oversee the event in case things got out of control. Not so certain I’d have agreed to this had I known you had a personal interest.”

Jim saw a muscle twitch in Claire’s jaw and he could only imagine the restraint she was putting forth to not lose her temper. He wanted to reassure her with a steadying hand but knew better than to touch her with her mother present. “Me liking this band is _not_ a secret,” she shot back under her breath.

The ticket collector must have also sensed the mounting frustration because he suddenly cleared his throat and said, “Not to worry, Madam Councilwoman. The staff are well-rehearsed in handling concert crowds.”

“We’ll see,” the woman sighed. “I have to make some calls to the building manager. If anything goes wrong, I want to be notified immediately.”

“As the lady wishes.”

She walked away in search of solitude, her phone already to her ear. Jim took his chance and lightly touched Claire’s shoulder. She glanced at him apologetically.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “My mom can be a lot to handle.”

“Lovely woman,” the collector said cheerfully. “What’s she on about ‘your idea?’”

Claire shrugged. “She was drawing blanks on how to raise money for the city and I suggested this. Didn’t think she’d actually do it, and now she thinks I only said it to land a seat. Great.”

“You’ve a love for all manner of stages, don’t you? I’d have to disagree with the councilwoman on this one—you saved all of Arcadia from a dull weekend.”

Claire suppressed a delighted giggle as she handed him the tickets. Jim bristled, feeling a strong and very _tempting_ desire to shove himself in the middle to ward the other guy away. He shook his head to shake the impulse—that was something uglier talking, not him. It wasn’t his right to do such a thing. He waited impatiently as the collector tore the tickets and handed the stubs back.

“Have fun you two. Bathrooms on the right, merch counter around the corner, and stage straight ahead. The rest of the building’s off limits to attendees, so just stay within the ropes and you’ll be grand. I’d recommend some earplugs.”

“Sound advice,” Jim said drily as he followed Claire towards the direction of the concert hall. The collector gave him an odd smile and Jim realized that last bit was directed at him specifically. Then he returned to manning his station, tending to the next group of people.

Maybe he should worry more about where his dumb cat wanders to at night than some stranger’s comfort at a concert.

As it turned out, there were simply _too many people_ in one room. And Jim had thought the lobby was crowded. The concert hall was dimmed as technicians performed last-minute checks on the light systems, which made it so much worse—as a troll, Jim could manage in the dark perfectly, but now he just felt suffocated in a sea of bodies he could hardly see. It was enough to make him nervous.

Thankfully, Claire was there to take the lead. “Let’s get closer to the stage!” she yelled over the clamor, grabbing his hand and dragging him through the crowd before he could respond.

“Aren’t our seats assigned by our tickets?” he shouted back.

“Nobody follows that rule. More fun that way.”

Well, that’s probably how the trampling happened. The only thought that crossed his mind as they approached the stage, which was already flooded by eager fans, was that he hoped to make it out of this alive. Or without losing his mind, since the level of sensory-overload he felt from being boxed in on all sides by screaming teenagers was already overwhelming.

Claire obviously didn’t match his uncertainty. She was in no hurry to sit down and had her phone out to snap a picture of everything, a wild grin on her face. Her enthusiasm was unbearably infectious, and even Jim found himself smiling when she pulled him in for a double selfie. His heart still pounded anxiously but she served as the distraction he needed, and the only thing that broke his immersion was the sudden shiver that crawled down his spine.

He glanced up and looked around, eyes scanning through the dark, though he couldn’t see much over the crowd. But just beyond the stage, in the deep shadows, he swore he saw a pair of golden orbs, just pinpricks in the dark. He blinked and they were gone an instant later, and he assumed it to be a trick of the lights.

That was when the show officially started. The band members walked out on stage—three women, all spikes and black leather and neon highlights—and the cheers of fans were deafening. They announced themselves and shouted some words to pump up the crowd, colorful strobing lights flaring through the dark as the whole room quivered with the power of the subwoofers warming up.

It was the moment they began their opening song that Jim realized this was a terrible idea. He was _so_ much more sensitive to light and sound now, and for the first time, truly recognized the extent of it.

Everything was _horrible._ The screech of the guitar was piercing enough to make him fold in pain, and he felt the drums beating to his very core. The bass thrummed so deeply through the floor into his feet that it rattled his skull. Claire was next to him, oblivious to his immense discomfort as she cheered and danced with the rest of the room, loudly singing along to lyrics so muddied by overlapping sound Jim couldn’t understand them. But when she found his eyes, he did his best to force a smile, despite his head threatening to explode.

Maybe he should have considered those earplugs after all.

He tried to keep up, he really did. The band had an admittedly spectacular performance despite so few instruments present, and the light show, though not quite professional grade, was quite stunning. Except, Jim couldn’t appreciate _any_ of it. He felt awfully blind in the dark concert hall, his vision further sullied by flashing lights that left spots in his retinas. The noise was so overwhelming he couldn’t see straight, couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t _think._

They transitioned to their third song. Splintered artifacts flickered at the edges of his vision. Words were in his head, but he couldn’t decipher them through the noise. The swarm of bodies pressed in from all sides, suffocating him, overloading his senses until they were static. Fear tightened his chest, crawled up his throat, choking him, and he couldn’t _breathe_ —

Someone bumped into him; another fan too wrapped up in the hype to really notice. But Jim noticed, and his skin crawled from the sudden abrupt contact, and without even thinking he whirled on the offender and shoved him away with a defensive growl. The kid, who was possibly even younger than him, stared in startled shock before fleeing back into the crowd.

He couldn’t take this. It was a meltdown waiting to happen. Without a second thought, he left Claire behind and made for the exit. He noticed molten yellow in the shadows just before bursting through the doors into the lobby.

Jim gasped for air, a hand clawing at his chest to feel his thundering heartbeat. The door swung shut behind him, muting the blaring music and roaring crowds, leaving him with ringing ears and a pounding headache. Unsteady legs carried him past curious onlookers and out through the front entrance. Even the warmth of the sun on his skin was welcome while he stood folded, fighting for breath.

His stomach rolled and he placed a hand on the wall for support as he threatened to vomit. The nausea passed after a tense and uneventful moment, but he felt no less weak, and he rubbed at his eyes with a groan. Someone touched his shoulder and he jumped, whipping his head around and half expecting to find Claire—

He was _immensely_ disappointed to discover who it really was.

“You alright, mate?” the ticket guy asked. “If you need a hand—”

“I just needed some air,” Jim growled, to which the dude took a step back with his hands raised in surrender. He nodded respectfully and backed off, retreating into the shadows of the front entrance and offering plenty of space. Jim took a deep breath and wiped at his face, feeling the stickiness of sweat on his palm.

Just once. Just _once_ he wanted a break from it. All he had hoped for was a day to forget about the weirdness and pretend like he wasn’t some kind of freak—and he couldn’t even have that. It didn’t matter that the troll was dormant under his skin, because it would always find a way to ruin any chance of normalcy he had. Worse still, he should have seen it coming. That awful side of him kept seeming to slip into his head without him realizing, so why would this time be the exception?

The smart thing would have been to reject Claire’s offer from the beginning no matter how hard she pushed, but a selfish part of him wanted to hope. Now he couldn’t even bear the thought of reentering that concert hall. The feeling of being completely without control was so reminiscent of his first night as a troll it made his eyes sting.

Jim rubbed his eyes with a mournful sigh. An irritating prickle at the back of his neck told him that a presence still lingered nearby, and he glanced up and blinked blearily at the ticket guy standing by the door, leaning nonchalantly against the wall as if he wasn’t even there.

“Did you want something?” Jim asked, trying not to sound too annoyed but probably failing. The guy didn’t seem bothered at all and glanced over with a smile.

“Not unless _you_ want something,” he answered. Jim squinted at him and he shrugged. “Just taking a breather, same as you. Gets stuffy with all those chiselers crowding the lobby.” Jim didn’t respond and went back to ignoring him, leaning against the brick of the building. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the guy push off and walk over, much to his displeasure. “Though, it’s probably worse in the concert hall, I imagine.”

 _Now_ Jim was starting to get irked. He stiffened when the ticket guy stopped to stand next to him, mirroring his posture.

“First time at one of these gigs?”

Jim winced, finally meeting his eyes, only partly veiled by lengthy strands of blue dip-dyed hair. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well, I’m something of an expert. Can spot a greenhorn a mile away, and you are as green as they come.” The young man’s smile disappeared and he grew serious. “I think it’d be clear to anyone you had no idea what to expect. You claustrophobic by any chance?”

A moment passed where Jim just considered walking away. It’d be the easier thing to do. But the young man didn’t hold any judgment in his eyes, and maybe putting the words out might help a little. Even to a total stranger.

“No,” Jim answered with a shake of his head. “Not—not usually. But that was just . . . I don’t know. Bad combo, I guess.”

The young man nodded. “Was it your girlfriend who convinced you? She looks to be quite a fan.”

Jim pursed his lips. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Ah, my apologies for assuming. You must be quite the friend to let her drag you here.”

Yeah, he thought. Some friend. Jim couldn’t even stand to listen to live music for a couple hours without threatening to turn inside out, not even for Claire. And he couldn’t even tell her the truth as to why. Jim crossed his arms and muttered, “She’d probably have more fun without me.”

He pushed off the wall and made to leave, resigning himself to a long walk home, but the young man’s voice made him stop.

“James Lake, is it?”

For some reason, hearing his full name out of the mouth of this person made him feel uneasy. The tone had an air of familiarity, as if it was already known, and that was enough to make Jim’s skin itch. He wasn’t sure why. Jim turned around and eyed the young man curiously, waiting.

“When you introduced yourself to the councilwoman, that was the name you gave. Would your mother happen to be Barbara Lake?”

Jim frowned. “How do you know her?”

“She comes to the café all the time. Delightful woman—tips twenty percent, too. The boys and I always fight over who gets to serve her. Tell her I said hello, yeah?”

“And you are . . . ?”

He stuck his hand out and flashed a dazzling smile—all charm and magnetism, as disarming as can be. Another layer to this strange, offbeat young man; right along the unusual mix of polished jargon and rough exterior. And his eyes, brightened to a muted yellow-gray from the blue sky, held infinite secrets. Jim didn’t fall for any of it.

“Douxie. That’s what my friends call me.”

“So, what do I call you?”

Douxie let out an amused chuckle. “I suppose you’ll have to make do.”

Jim stared at the offered hand, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he considered. Finally, he grabbed it and gave one solid shake, glaring the whole while. Douxie’s gaze dropped to briefly land on Jim’s scars, which were on full display in the afternoon sun. There was a pensive look in his eyes when they rose again, and a slight crinkle to his brow, like his mind was at work.

“I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other again, James Lake.”

Something flickered at the edges of his vision and he blinked it away. “Jim,” he said sharply. And he certainly hoped not. “Just Jim.”

“Very well,” Douxie nodded. “Just Jim.” They released one another and Douxie moved to go back inside. He peered through the door’s glass for a second before pulling it open and stepping to the side with a friendly gesture as Claire stepped through.

 _“There_ you are,” she said as she walked up to Jim, a frown on her face. Douxie gave him a two-fingered salute and a parting smirk before heading inside. Jim scowled after him before Claire’s voice grabbed his attention again. “Where did you go? I thought you were using the bathroom but you never came back. Is everything okay?”

Uh oh. “Yeah! Yeah, everything’s fine, I just . . . wanted to step outside for a bit. It’s really hot in there.”

She didn’t look like she believed him. She stepped closer, studying his face. “You don’t look like you’re feeling very well. Are you sure you’re fine?”

Jim instinctively put a hand to his face, which was warm and clammy, then slid it behind his neck. “I guess with all the excitement . . . you know, my stomach just feels a little off today.”

Claire’s frown deepened and she took his hand, pulling him back inside without another word. He was about to question her before she led him to a bench placed out of the way, so they’d have some privacy. She sat him down and took a seat next to him.

“Tell me the truth. Are you okay?”

Jim opened his mouth—but when he saw the look in her eyes he stopped. All he ever had for her was lies. She deserved better than that. With a shaky sigh, he whispered, “I can’t go back in there.”

Claire cocked her head, curious, and also concerned. She waited for him to continue.

“I felt . . . _trapped,_ like I couldn’t breathe. I’ve never done this before, as you already figured out, so I didn’t know how it’d be, and—everything was just too much. I know that probably sucks for you to hear and I’m totally ruining your good time, and I’m sorry I couldn’t handle something so simple—”

“Jim, stop,” she urged him softly. Her hand found his and squeezed and his throat closed up instantly. “The last thing I want you to feel right now is sorry on top of everything else.”

“But, the concert—”

“Fuck the concert, honestly. I’ve been to a thousand of these.” His confusion must have shown pretty heavily on his face because she rolled her eyes. “Jim, you gave me the tickets. I could have done anything I wanted with them, and instead I wanted _you_ to come with me. If you’re not having fun, then what’s the point?”

“I just feel bad cause you were having fun—”

“Until I realized you weren’t there. Then I went looking for you.” She sighed and sidled up to him, leaning her head on his shoulder and taking his hand into her lap. Her thumb traced over his scars—how she always ended up there, he wasn’t sure. “I know you’re going through some things, and sometimes it gets in the way. I totally get it. Maybe a concert was pretty short-sighted, but I’m not going to bail on you for something you can’t help.”

Without even thinking, he twisted his hand and weaved his fingers with hers, gripping tightly. He chuckled humorlessly. “I wish I could hide it better.”

“You’re not terrible at it. I’m just getting good at reading through your bullshit.” That pulled a genuine laugh out of him and she smiled. “We can find something else to do. There’s plenty of stuff in Arcadia for underaged teens.”

“Good joke.”

“I know.”

Neither one of them made to move, and it was possible neither wanted to. Jim was more relaxed than he’d been all day and Claire was warm at his side, smoothing her fingers over his forearm and just reminding him that, actually, things aren’t so bad. If there was ever a time for him to die of contentment, this would be it.

A sharp and sudden voice made them both jump. “Claire.”

Claire immediately pulled away and Jim did the courtesy of copying her. A second later Councilwoman Nuñez stopped in front of them, eyes full of suspicion—and possibly a little malice while they were on Jim.

“You and I need to talk when you get home,” she said to Claire, who, by some miracle, managed to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. “But never mind that now. It’s like a zoo in there. Absolute chaos. If those kids vandalize that hall by any means—”

“Mom.”

“And what if someone gets hurt? The city council would be stuck with the lawsuit—” The councilwoman paused, looking between them. “Why aren’t you two in there? Isn’t that the whole reason you’re here?”

Jim pursed his lips and exchanged glances with Claire. She put her hand on his shoulder and said, “Jim was just feeling a little sick, so we stepped out for a few. It gets really hot in there with all the people.”

Councilwoman Nuñez scoffed. “You see? That . . . _madhouse_ is a tragedy waiting to happen. I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. The city shouldn’t be supporting wild events that have the potential to cause these kinds of bad reactions in people, let alone all the other worse-case scenarios.”

“He’s fine, Mom! And everyone’s having fun!”

Jim held up a hand. “Really, Councilwoman Nuñez, I’m okay now—”

“Fun?” the councilwoman snapped. “What if James here got hurt instead? Would you be having fun then?”

Claire pressed her mouth tightly shut, fuming in stiff silence. Jim, under her mother’s icy gaze, was forced to keep his distance.

“I’ll give credit where credit is due—this show was an overwhelming success and your prediction was rock solid. However, basing your suggestion on self-interest has placed your desire for cheap entertainment over the safety of others as well as the integrity of this building. You should know better.” Her phone suddenly rang and she quickly threw up a hand to silence Claire before she could get a word in. “I have to take this. We’ll pick this back up when I’m finished.”

Jim watched in stunned silence as the councilwoman immediately engaged herself in a different conversation as she walked away, the two of them already forgotten. He snuck a glance at Claire, who stared, expressionless, after her mother.

“Claire?” he asked softly, giving her a gentle nudge. She seemed to blink out of her trance as she fixed him with a confused look. Her eyes chased after her mother one more time before giving him a devilish smirk.

“I have an idea that I think will be fun,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him from the bench. He followed her as she led him to the end of the lobby, where it was closed off from the rest of the building by a rope barrier.

“I’m not sure that’s allowed,” Jim said as he watched her duck under the ropes.

Claire straightened and smiled sweetly, holding the rope up for him. “That’s what makes it fun.”

Huh, he thought. Not a side of her he’d expected to see today, and yet, he was intrigued. To think that Claire Nuñez, social paragon and role-model daughter of an elected city official, was as rebellious as the blue streak in her hair. Maybe he should have seen that coming. At least he wasn’t the only one forced to hide a part of himself to keep up appearances.

Jim took one look over his shoulder. The councilwoman stood not too far away, but she was so invested in her phone call she paid them no mind. Neither did anyone else. Without another second wasted, he dipped under the rope and they both sped off down the hall, wild grins on their faces.

There wasn’t anything serious about simply jumping the ropes. At worst, they were mildly trespassing in a restricted area. It was a very tame rule to break, and in the end, there was no real harm in it. No major risks. But knowing they could get in trouble if they were caught was the part that made it exciting.

The rest of the convention center was predictably deserted, with the only sound being their squeaking shoes and childish giggling as they moved deeper into the building. The vacant halls echoed like a cavern, dimmed into a haunting darkness with only the occasional perpetual light to ward away the shadows. Windows to other rooms only gave way to vacant blackness.

Claire was right—this totally beat the concert. The isolation wasn’t relaxing, but rather gave a vague sense of trepidation that only empty public buildings could offer. There was just something that felt fundamentally wrong about a space designed for people to fill being completely barren. That motionless tension was part of the thrill. He half expected a ghost to jump out at them at any moment.

His head still hurt, but in the silence, it was easier to ignore the ache.

“Sorry about my mom,” Claire said after they’d slowed down, walking leisurely side by side down another stretch of timeless abyss. The gentle slapping of stepping shoes thrummed off the walls like whispers in the dark. “She’s kind of a—how do I put this? A major hardass.”

Jim chuckled, one hand in his pocket as he stared at the way his feet moved in front of the other in a straight line, like he was walking a tightrope. The other was at his side, his pinky finger locked with Claire’s to serve as a tether in the low light. “I’m not the one taking the heat.”

“No, but you might at some point. I knew as soon as she saw you it was going to be Armageddon.”

“Pretty lucky she hasn’t been home whenever I was there, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s not luck. More like, strategically planned to avoid this very problem.” She sighed. “My dad I can handle. My mom? Not as easily.”

“The downside of having a politician for a parent, I guess.”

“Assuming there’s even an upside. _Everything’s_ about her council seat—and I guess it’s hard to blame her cause she’s still pretty young in the game, and if there was ever a time to spearhead a reputation, it would be now. But it’s nice to take a break from the regime of Mom’s career once in a while, you know?”

“You ever sneak out to these things? The concerts?”

The guilty grin on her face answered him plenty. “A lot more than she realizes. Not just concerts, either. Parties too. All the late-night jams if I can help it. Sometimes Mary throws these killer group bonfire things out in the woods that can last all the way till morning. You should come to one sometime. “They’re always on a Friday and start right after school ends, so you could go home before dark if you wanted.”

Jim smiled grimly, wishing he didn’t _have_ to be so vigilant of the sun—because no, he didn’t want to go home before dark. He wanted to act his age. “Sounds like fun. What goes on at these bonfires?”

“Talking, mostly. People tell stories about crazy things they’ve seen or they’ll try to scare everyone with some creepy legend about Arcadia’s wilderness. That part’s way better at night though.”

He definitely had a few wild things to share himself. Turning into a troll would make a pretty excellent tale, if he were being honest. Not to mention the whole city underground.

“And everyone brings snacks and drinks. Seamus always steals his dad’s beer and brings it, then Mary gets mad cause she’s afraid someone’s gonna get hammered and trip into the fire. She’s probably right and Steve would be the one to do it, but so far no accidents yet.”

“I think my mom would kill me if she found out I was drinking.”

Claire elbowed him. “You don’t _have_ to drink, dummy. Not everyone does. Besides, your mom’s a doctor, right? Who’s better equipped to handle a hangover?”

“God, you’re right. She did one hell of a job after I fractured my arm. Barely felt a thing when she was done with me.”

“See? Familial advantage. All my mom ever does is _give_ me a headache.” Claire eyed him nonchalantly. “So, two tickets, huh?”

Jim frowned, sensing a trap. “What about them?”

“Oh, it just had me thinking. Obviously you bought two cause you planned on inviting someone. So if not Toby, then who did you have in mind?”

Oh, damn her for not letting it go. She was gonna make him say it despite clearly knowing the answer. Fortunately, he had _one_ ace in the hole that would probably wipe that smirk right off her face. “I should probably come clean. I didn’t buy the tickets—Mary did.”

Predictably, her face fell into a confused frown. “Wait, what?”

“And she gave them to me.”

_“What?”_

“Okay, before you go on a warpath. Something came up and she couldn’t use the tickets anyway.”

Claire stopped and whirled on him, brow pinched in outrage. “What did she tell you?” He averted his eyes and pursed his lips, shrugging, and apparently that’s all she needed to answer her question. She groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Oh my god. I’m going to _kill_ her.”

“Please don’t. I promised I wouldn’t tell you, so if you go after her then I’m the next casualty in line.”

“I can’t believe her. Jim, _please_ say she didn’t pressure you into asking me.”

“Okay, Claire, relax.” He lightly grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands away. She couldn’t meet his eyes. “She was definitely out of line disclosing something personal like that with me, but I promise she wasn’t the reason. The tickets were just an excuse.”

That got her attention. She peered up at him hesitantly.

“And if it wasn’t for the things with Toby and Steve, I probably would have asked sooner. The timing just never felt right with everything going on. Definitely didn’t mean for it to happen the way it did.”

A moment passed of her considering his words. Then, she sighed, her shoulders slumping as all the anger melted away. “Not sharing any secrets with _her_ anymore, that’s for sure.”

Jim laughed. “Please don’t be mad at her. We’re already wasting the tickets anyway.”

Claire rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. They resumed walking, now in relaxed silence—but only briefly before something else caught her attention.

“Can you hear that?” she asked him as she moved closer to the wall. “The concert hall must be on the other side. You can hear the music.”

Jim pretended to act amazed. Truth is, the music never completely faded from his ears, thanks to his ever-improving hearing. It was faint, but always there—which was honestly how he’d prefer to listen to it anyway. But now it was a lot louder, and he could make out every word sung. Half the building was constantly under siege from the bass, too, and he felt the tremors vibrate through his shoes.

“Maybe we don’t have to waste those tickets after all.”

“What do you mean?” The curious tilt to his brow dropped into a frown when she began swaying in time with the beat. “No.”

“Oh, come one.” She gestured at the stretch of empty hall. “Who’s gonna see us?”

True to her enthusiasm, and probably to prove her point, Claire danced—happily, shamelessly, and without an inkling of self-consciousness. It wasn’t stellar dancing by any means, and maybe that was how it was supposed to be for this type of thing. Just wild fun. And it was definitely amusing to watch.

“Quit standing there like a dork,” she called over to him, smiling like it was the liveliest thing in the world.

“Yeah, I don’t—I can’t really—”

Suddenly, she was in front of him and tugging at his hands. “Dance? Not a problem. I’ll help.”

It was really hard to say no to her, especially when she was looking at him like that. And if she didn’t care, then maybe he shouldn’t either. Without another word, he let her drag him into the doing the silliest thing he’d probably ever done.

As it turned out, not knowing how to dance wasn’t really an issue. What they did wasn’t exactly _dancing,_ but more like a whole lot of hopping and spinning and laughing, pulling at each other and alternating feet with the music so that their shoes were a chorus of echoing squeaks serving as backup to the melody.

It had to have been quite a sight. Two young adults locked in a ridiculous display of jaunty glee, dancing to the muffled tune coming from the other side of a wall in a dimly-lit, desolate hallway. And Claire was singing along to the lyrics—loudly, pretty badly, and exactly the way the mood called for. He didn’t know the words, but if he did, he’d join in without a second thought, enjoying himself far too much to worry about their voices carrying. They were on the opposite side of the building, anyway.

Jim stepped on her foot, interrupting their flow and nearly sending them both to the floor. Claire burst into wild laughter and pressed into him for support, her face against his sternum as her shoulders shook with the intensity of it. He’d laugh too if he had the air in his lungs to manage.

“This is so stupid,” he wheezed. Something flashed behind his eyes, along with a sharp pain. It was shocking enough to make him flinch and he pressed a hand to his head.

Claire felt his balance shift and steadied him, her hands on his arms. “You okay?”

He blinked the spots away and smiled at her. “Uh, just. Headache. I have a little headache. It’ll go away on its own.”

With all the trouble he’d had that day, she wasn’t willing to be convinced so quickly. But when he didn’t show further signs, she seemed to finally relax. The music in the room over cut as the song finished and sound of the audience cheering replaced it. Another started up a moment later.

“Damn, they’re still going?” Jim asked incredulously, staring at the wall like it’d show him the other side if he looked hard enough. “How long do these things go for?”

“A few hours. You have to have pretty good stamina to survive the whole thing. They’re pretty tiring.”

“God. I feel tired just thinking about it,” he muttered. Or maybe that was just the weariness from their wild dance talking. The new song’s pacing was really fast and it felt weird standing still while listening to it, but he really needed to catch his breath. They were both hot and sweating and breathing hard from moving so much. His heart, still racing, pounded in time with the music. Claire was pressed against him and he could feel hers doing the same.

He’d forgotten how close she was. She seemed to realize it too because she blinked in surprise. But neither one made to move away, and all the tension melted as they laughed simultaneously, quiet and breathless, the high of the moment still singing in their veins. Jim rested his forehead against hers, that stupid, nervous smile stuck on his face. Her breath was warm against his lips.

This was _exactly_ the moment he wanted to spend the rest of his life living in—trespassing in a restricted zone, in a dark, empty hallway, to the sound of muffled punk rock from the next room, with a girl he really liked in his arms. Something that could last forever and he’d be fine with it.

Claire was looking at him expectantly and it took way longer than it should have for him to realize it. But a prickly feeling at the back of his neck made him straighten instead, and he looked around—for what, he wasn’t sure. It felt like they were being watched, but there was nothing in the shadows he could make out.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him after a moment. Jim opened his mouth to say “nothing” but then a distinct sound, far away but drawing closer with every second, made him freeze.

He met her gaze and said, “Someone’s coming.”

Claire’s brow crinkled in concentration as she tried to hear what he heard. It must have gotten close enough for her to pick up because after a moment her eyes widened. “You think it’s security patrolling?”

The approaching sound of masculine voices and jingling keys made him nod. “Definitely security.”

Claire shoved him in the opposite direction and he broke into a run, trying to keep his steps as quiet as possible. She was right behind him, sniggering the whole way. The sounds of patrol quickly fell behind but they didn’t stop, weaving through the labyrinth of the convention center halls to flee any risk of discovery.

At some point, they got separated. Jim noticed and realized she must have split off on her own to hide. He’d have to backtrack and find her, then—after he finished catching his breath and sweating off the adrenaline of panic.

The halls seemed much eerier without someone walking beside him. That nervous thrill of the emptiness was now just straight paranoia, and Jim found himself checking over his shoulder more times than he’d like to admit. It was pretty ridiculous to be afraid of anything here—it wasn’t like he was actually alone in the building, not when there was a giant room full of hundreds of people nearby. Plus, Claire was somewhere. He just had to figure out where she went.

Something flickered in the dark. Jim froze, his pulse spiking, and searched frantically. “Claire? Is that you?” he called out, his voice carrying down the dim hall. He was answered with silence.

Was Claire the type to pull pranks? That seemed a bit childish for her—more Toby’s bag than anything. Maybe he imagined it. Swallowing hard, Jim tore his eyes away from the shadows and continued on.

He heard a voice—unmistakably a voice, but it sounded _really_ quiet, like it was far away, but at the same time, really _close._ He couldn’t make out the words. It made him jump regardless and he whipped around, heart hammering in his chest.

“Someone there?” he asked the emptiness, nearly whispering. “Come on, man. This isn’t funny.”

There was nothing to reveal, nothing to claim it’s all a big joke and that he had nothing to worry about. It was just him and his anxious thoughts.

He heard the voice again, but he couldn’t place a source. It just came from . . . _everywhere._ And then erratic movement in his peripheral followed by another sharp pain at the front of his skull—sharp enough to make him fold and press the heel of his palms to his eyes.

Fragmented figures blinked across his vision, bright and translucent, the pattern so disjointed and sporadic it was like watching a corrupted film of real life. Then that voice again, now harsh and booming and distorted and causing him immense discomfort, and Jim covered his ears and tried to shut it out but it did nothing to quiet it, and he realized it was because the words were _inside_ his head. Impossible to ignore.

It overwhelmed him enough to send him to his knees, his hands gripping his head so hard it was a miracle it didn’t pop. The splintered artifacts behind his eyes jumped all over before flashing into one single comprehensive apparition of a man for a split second, and Jim realized this man was speaking. To _him._ Then it was over and the image shattered, the pieces flickering in and out of existence as the same garbled words repeated in his mind over and over.

_“F . . . entis . . . ips . . . ki . . . mar.”_

Jim groaned, the pain in his head increasing as the words continued to assail him. The rapid flashing of broken faces behind his eyes was making him sick.

_“. . . ind . . . appre . . . the ec . . . ill Gu . . . ar.”_

“Stop!” Jim screamed at nothing. “Just . . . _stop!”_

The words didn’t stop. The glitching apparitions didn’t stop. He was forced to look, and forced to listen—and the harder he listened, the clearer the words became.

_“Fin . . . prentis . . . har . . . ipse . . . kill . . . nmar.”_

Kill. Jim heard the word kill. Kill what?

 _“Find m . . . apprenti . . . arness th . . . clipse . . . kill_ Gunmar.”

Who’s _Gunmar?_

Jim’s eyes flicked down and he shrieked when he saw his hands—four fingers on each, sporting blue stone instead of pale flesh. Then they snapped back to normal, and he wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.

Scrambling to his feet, Jim staggered down the hall, his head swimming in a violent mix of white noise and visual overstimulation. His hands kept phasing in and out—human, then troll the next instant, then human again—back and forth, rapidly. The same thing was happening to the rest of him when he glanced down his body. With short, shallow breaths, Jim threw himself at the closest window, the darkness of the vacant room inside serving as the backdrop for his reflection.

His human face stared back and he nearly cried in relief.

Artifacts flickered across his vision and suddenly the image changed, revealing horns, pointed tusks, and glowing eyes.

Jim shoved himself away so fast he lost his balance and fell on his back. Again, he looked at his hands. Human. But he didn’t trust what he saw. He dug furiously into his pocket and ripped out the amulet, holding it out before him in his palms and staring at the cool sapphire that shone gently in the dim hallway.

It was blue. The stone was blue, which meant it was daytime. He was safe. He was human.

This isn’t real, Jim thought. It’s all in his head—it _has_ to be. He’s imaging it. But . . . _why?_ The words still screamed in his head but now he was desperate to shut them out, scrubbing furiously at his eyes to erase the splintered picture of that ghastly man.

The full apparition blinked into existence again. Jim didn’t recognize him—had never seen him before in his life. Then it was gone, flickering in and out as a thousand pieces.

“Who are you?” Jim asked, pushing himself to his feet, the amulet tightly in his grip. He was only answered with the same garbled, repetitive chant. “What do you want with me? Get out of my head!”

The fragments didn’t acknowledge him. Jim growled in frustration and charged down the hall, desperate to get away from whatever was triggering these hallucinations. But they followed him, and he quickly found himself blinded. The voice never left his head.

Rounding a corner, he tripped over his own feet and hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the amulet from his grip. Panting, Jim eased himself upright, feeling the ache of the fall deep in his bones. He searched wildly before locating the sapphire glow of the amulet just a short way down the hall, at rest in the middle of the hallway, just out of the shadows.

His eyes climbed higher. And higher. Until they landed on a pair of molten yellow in the dark. They were downcast, staring directly at the amulet at its feet. Then they flicked up and Jim felt like ice water rushed under his skin. He couldn’t breathe. The flashing images had stopped, and the voice in his head was silent.

This thing, standing silhouetted in the shadows, was real.

Its eyes lowered once more and Jim felt a shock of panic burst through his system when it lowered to the ground, a twisted, gnarled hand moving into the light as it reached for the amulet—

“God, _there_ you are.”

Jim jerked in surprise and quickly whipped his head around, seeing Claire hurry to catch up. He wasn’t sure he was relieved to see her or utterly terrified. That thing was standing _right there—_

She knelt down next to him, looking worried. “Are you okay? I heard you yelling. Why are you on the floor?”

Jim immediately pushed himself to his knees and grabbed her shoulders, trembling as he said, “Claire, you need to leave. Now.”

“What are you talking about?”

Jim pointed down the hall. _“That!_ Don’t you see it?!”

Claire followed his gesture. She turned back to him, apprehensive. “Jim, there’s nothing there.”

He turned back and blinked—it was _gone._ His amulet still sat on the floor, completely undisturbed.

Oh god, had he _imagined that too?_

“I think we should call it a day,” Claire said, slowly pulling Jim to his feet. Jim kept staring at the spot where the thing had been standing. It remained vacant, even as Claire walked over to the amulet and picked it up. “Is this yours?”

Jim took it numbly, his hand shaking when she handed it to him. “Yeah, it’s, uh. It’s mine.”

“Was is it? Some sort of antique pocket watch or something? Cool design.”

The barest of fragments flickered in his vision. Then they were gone. “Pocket watch. Yeah.”

Claire placed her hand on his back and lead him down the hall. He appreciated the touch—it felt grounding after that nightmare. He was filled with so many questions.

But he was still on high alert. His instincts _screamed_ that they were not alone and Jim glanced over his shoulder, eyes scanning the shadows. Behind them, down at the very end, was a pair of molten yellow staring after them. But he didn’t feel them on him—they were looking at Claire.

Jim instantly went on the defensive and grabbed Claire’s arm, making her jump. “What’s wrong?”

He was trembling, head to toe, but he was determined to get her out of harm’s way. “We need to go.”

“Jim, calm down—”

_“Now.”_

Claire didn’t budge when he pulled, and it only made him more frantic. He looked over her shoulder and saw glowing orbs moving closer, gliding through the halls like a phantom as it moved through darkness—a living shadow.

Jim started when Claire cupped his face in her hands, forcing his eyes back to hers. “Take it easy. You’re okay. Just breathe.”

It was gone again. Jim felt like he was losing his mind. The sound of footsteps made them both look up. Rounding the corner, completely oblivious to the situation, was none other than that Douxie guy.

That’s just _great._

He froze immediately upon spotting them and raised an eyebrow. “Fancied a detour?” he asked dryly.

“Look, we’re leaving, just—” Claire stopped when Jim curled in on himself, his head throbbing fiercely as the splintered images flashed behind his eyes again.

_“F . . . ind . . . m . . . prentice.”_

“Shut _up!”_ Jim screamed. “Just shut the _fuck up!”_

“What in the blue bleeding hell is wrong with _him?”_

“I don’t know,” he heard Claire say. She sounded scared. Her hands clutched tightly at his shoulders to keep him on his feet. “He’s having some sort of breakdown or—or something. Please help me.”

Jim felt another pair of hands latch onto him. Scrambled words thundered in his head.

_“Har . . . n . . . the . . . clipse.”_

“I’m going to go get my mom. Can you just watch him while I find her?”

“Of course. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

He felt Claire’s warmth disappear.

_“Kill Gunmar.”_

“Alright, Jim? Let’s take it down a notch, okay, mate?” Douxie coaxed him upright, carefully grabbing his wrists and pulling his hands away so his ears weren’t shielded. “Yeah, you’re doing great! Now, can you tell me what’s going on? I might be able to help.”

Jim blinked up at him, his mind buzzing numbly. He looked around and frowned, anxious. “Where’s Claire?”

“Your friend? She ran off to fetch her mother, but she’ll be back in a tick.”

Oh _no._ The monster with the glowing eyes. If it turned out his mind really wasn’t playing tricks on him, then Claire was potentially inviting its full attention by running off on her own. Jim wasn’t sure _what_ it was—if it was a troll or something else, or what it could want, but he would not let it endanger her.

Jim tried to jerk free, but the older boy only tightened his grip. “Let go of me,” he snarled.

Surprise flashed in Douxie’s eyes but he didn’t stop trying to wrestle Jim into standing still. “I don’t know what’s going through your head right now, but I assure you, everything’s fine—”

He didn’t have time for this. Jim clawed his fingers into Douxie’s vest and shoved him away with a vicious strength drawn from deep within, where the troll lay dormant. Douxie stumbled hard into the wall, the impact leaving him winded as he dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. Jim took off down the hall, leaving the gasping collector behind.

When he rounded the corner, he was greeted with another barren stretch of hallway. Claire was nowhere to be found—perhaps she was already back in the lobby? He could only hope. The hall was no different than the rest: it was dimly-lit and hauntingly empty.

Except, it _wasn’t_ empty. Not according to his instincts, which told him the contrary. Something was here with him in this hallway, lurking. Invisible, but with a presence so oppressive it sucked the very air from his lungs and left him feeling cold.

“I know what you are,” Jim said to the emptiness. His eyes took in everything, waiting for a sign of movement. But all remained perfectly still, and like with the fractured man, he was answered with deafening silence.

Then something _did_ move, and his eyes snapped to it. From the darkness emerged a great looming silhouette, splitting from the shadows and taking some with it, moving to stand in the middle of the hallway, facing him. Blocking his path. Standing so tall its head brushed the ceiling. Molten eyes opened and met his gaze, and Jim felt such a deep chill in his bones it left him shivering.

Eyes he recognized from that night at the school.

Neither one of them moved. It stared at him—long, hard, unflinchingly. Never blinking. Jim held its gaze, along with his ground. He would not be intimidated. He would not let it hurt anyone.

After what felt like an eternity, it raised a hand. Long, angular fingers ending in wicked claws slowly unraveled, and snapped into a flex, igniting a spark of purple fire in its palm. The magical light briefly illuminated a part of its face, and it only confirmed Jim’s suspicions—cracked stony skin; tapered tusks; framed by twisting horns. All veiled in the shadow of a fraying hood hanging loosely over its head.

This was a troll, and a really creepy one at that.

The troll suddenly whipped its hand out and the magical fire burst, popping the few perpetual lights and making Jim flinch as he was showered in sparks and shards of glass, leaving the hallway completely black, save for what little light filtered in from the ends. Panic began to set in as soon as he realized he couldn’t see anything. He could barely see his own hands in front of his face.

A blast of cold air rushed past him before he was roughly slammed into the nearby window an instant later, the glass fracturing beneath the pressure and cutting off his cry of pain. A stiff forearm pressed tightly to his chest, making it impossible to breathe. He felt icy breath on his face that reeked of pestilence and decay. All he could see was the bright glow of molten yellow and the subtle glint of razor teeth.

“If you speak truth, then you should know better than to trifle with forces beyond your understanding,” a deep voice slowly rasped in his ear, scraping so abrasively up the throat it was as if the very air used to speak had rotted. Jim felt the chilling kiss of metal as a blade brushed lightly over his neck, just under his jaw. “Tell me, _boy—_ how did a human come to be in possession of a troll artifact?”

There wasn’t a whole lot running through Jim’s mind other than paralyzing fear, but somehow defiance found its way in there. “Why are you here?” he whispered hoarsely, ignoring the question. Speaking felt like scratching nails in his throat.

“That is not of your concern.”

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the end of the hall and he felt the troll stiffen. With a low growl, the arm pulled way and Jim crumpled to the ground, feeling glass shards bite into his hands. He gasped for air as sharp pain stabbed at his chest, tasting blood on his tongue. He wondered if something was broken.

The presence of death disappeared and warmth returned to the air.

Holy fucking _Christ,_ Jim thought. Since when do trolls come to the surface during the _day?_ And in a public building _filled_ with humans?! What reason could possibly warrant the risk of discovery? How did it even get in here?

Oh, god. The concert hall. Half of Arcadia’s youth were crammed in one room and a hostile magical creature was roaming the halls, doing—Jim didn’t know. But he didn’t want to find out through someone else happening to run into it.

Jim crawled his way to his feet, grunting from the pain in his chest, and staggered over to where he remembered seeing the fire alarm. It took a moment of blind searching before his fingers bumped into the plastic box covering the pull handle.

The lights turned on—all of the ones that weren’t broken, anyway. A glance over his shoulder revealed Douxie standing close by, a hand on the switches. When he noticed what Jim was doing, his brow shot up.

“Don’t even think—”

Jim pulled the handle, never breaking eye-contact. The obnoxious alarm blared through the building and illuminated the darker halls with flashing lights. The vibrations in the floor from the concert’s bass immediately stopped, and the confused clamor of the crowd was loud enough to be heard over the ringing.

Douxie, with a slack jaw, shook his head in bewilderment. “What in the seven planes is wrong with you?”

That was a question Jim wished he could answer for himself. As it was, though, he didn’t speak. Two security guards came racing around the opposite corner, both stunned to a halt upon noticing the shards of glass littering the floor, the cracked window, and whom had pulled the fire alarm—along with the obvious absence of any fire.

Claire hadn’t made it too far with her mom by the time the alarm went off. He had the pleasure of watching her stare in shock as security dragged him into the lobby—which was now emptying as attendees evacuated the building—and to a place they could keep an eye on him until the police arrived. Councilwoman Nuñez’s face, on the other hand, was stricken with fury.

Well, he definitely left a lasting impression on her mother. At least now, hopefully everyone would be safe, including Claire. And that’s all that really mattered.

The fragmented apparition flickered across his eyes once. He didn’t see it again.

* * *

Of all the things Jim hadn’t expected, Mr. Strickler was at the top of the list.

He should consider himself immensely lucky. Claire’s mother, despite having the lowest possible opinion of him, had managed to convince the building manager not to press charges—though he had a feeling that had more to do with Claire’s interference than anything. He wondered if she had told her mother about his freak out in the halls. The last thing he needed was the councilwoman thinking he was crazy.

But he didn’t feel lucky. He just felt confused, and tired. Seeing Mr. Strickler standing by his car in front of the police station, waiting, looking expectant, did not help his mood at all. He wasn’t sure anyone topside would make him feel any better, except maybe Toby. The only person he really wanted to see at the moment was Blinky.

His teacher didn’t say anything. He gestured at the passenger door and climbed into the driver’s seat. Not seeing much choice in the matter, Jim obliged.

He sat down and shut the door without a word. Mr. Strickler did not shift into drive right away, opting instead to sit in silence. Jim crossed his arms and leaned his head against the window, gazing up at the dying light in the orange sky. Sunset would come soon, but he was too weary to feel any urgency.

After a long and uncomfortable moment, the man spoke. “You look nice.”

Jim sighed. “Why are you here? Where’s my mom?”

Mr. Strickler cleared his throat. “Your mother is waiting for you at home. She . . . figures you’re more likely to talk to me about what’s going on.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“That’s about what I said.”

They fell back into stiff silence. Mr. Strickler placed his hands on the wheel and pulled away from the curb, easing onto the road. Another moment passed, this one filled with only the hum of the engine.

“I spoke to Claire. She described a rather . . . disturbing series of behavioral displays from you today.”

Jim dropped his head into his hand. “Oh my god.”

“She’s deeply concerned about your mental health. When you left my office that day after your fight with Steve, you had me convinced you’d manage to find a way to improve. From what I understand, that has not happened—in fact, you appear to be growing worse near exponentially.”

“Yeah, no _shit_ it’s getting worse,” Jim snapped. Mr. Strickler stared at him in startled surprise and he sighed. “I’m trying. I really, really am. I can’t . . . _control_ everything all the time.”

“Of course you can’t. No one expects you to.” His gaze fell to Jim’s hands, which were covered in pink-spotted bandages where the skin had been cut by glass. “But the vandalism . . . I don’t understand. Did you purposely hurt yourself?”

“No. Accident. Promise.”

“And the fire alarm?”

“I don’t _know!_ Okay?! My brain’s fried, and it happened. End of fucking story.”

Jim huffed in exasperation and slouched in his seat, dropping his face into his hand. They didn’t speak the rest of the way to his house. When Mr. Strickler pulled into the driveway, Jim immediately ripped the seatbelt off and tugged at the handle. The door didn’t budge. Jim tried to pull at the lock but it was too buried to grip. He glanced over at his teacher and scowled.

The expression Mr. Strickler wore was no longer concerned and patient. His eyes were cold, and his brow was drawn in anger. “Something has to change, Jim.”

“Let me out of the car.”

“Your stubbornness is costing your mother her sanity. You won’t talk to her; you won’t talk to me—”

“Since when are you two even talking again?! What’s going on with me is _none_ of your business—”

“This isn’t just about _you!”_ Mr. Strickler said sharply. “You’re terrifying _everyone_ around you. Not just your mother, but Claire, and Toby, and Steve, and whomever _else_ you’ve managed to hurt by failing to take responsibility! Your actions have consequences, Jim, and if you’re not careful, you’re going to pose a danger not only to yourself, but others as well. And so help me, for Barbara’s sake, I _will_ step in if it comes to that.”

Something buried deep in his gut, something primal and possessive and _angry,_ bubbled up inside him. “You stay away from my mom,” Jim growled, speaking low and very slowly, so that his words came across as deadly serious, with no room to doubt.

Mr. Strickler narrowed his eyes and angled his head down, his lips tight as he held Jim’s furious gaze. “That is not your decision to make. But a choice you _do_ have is whether or not you’re willing to try and fix this problem. So what will it be?”

They glared at one another, neither wanting to be the one to back down. There was something familiar about the challenge in the man’s eyes—something solid and vicious. An intensity he normally didn’t notice in people. Maybe that was just the consequence of being a high school teacher.

Eventually, though, Mr. Strickler was the one to relent. More out of weariness than anything. He sighed and dropped his gaze, a hand rubbing at his eyes. His fingers tapped rhythmically at the steering wheel, the large gilded ring he always wore catching the light as it bobbed with the movement. When he looked back up, the anger was gone, replaced with muted fatigue. “I have high hopes for you, Jim. I always have. No one wants to see you fall apart like this. You must understand that this frustration comes from . . . I’m worried about you.”

Jim shook his head. “It’s not your job to be.”

“You’re right. It’s not. But that’s a choice _I_ make.”

Anger had never been an emotion Jim was very good at holding onto. It melted away and he was left with only emptiness. He felt hollow and he shut his eyes because he couldn’t bear to look at his teacher any longer. There was not a single promise he could make that had the guarantee of being kept. Too much unknown. Too much out of his control. Of course, none of it was articulatable.

A sharp _click!_ sounded throughout the car and Jim looked down at the door lock. It stood upright, clear of its sheath. Tentatively, he reached for the handle, and the door popped open when he pulled.

Mr. Strickler’s voice made him pause. “Speak to her? Please?”

Jim stared at the ground, a single foot on the cement of his driveway. Slowly, he looked back over his shoulder and met Mr. Strickler’s hopeful eyes, and gave a silent nod. Then he climbed the rest of the way out.

“Wait, Jim. You dropped . . . something . . .”

Jim stopped himself from shutting the door just in time to see Mr. Strickler reach over to the passenger seat and carefully pick up his amulet. Instantly, his nerves ignited and he held his hand out to retrieve it. “Oh, that’s just . . . uh.”

Mr. Strickler didn’t seem to notice him gesturing for the item to be returned. The man’s face was pinched with fierce interest and puzzled curiosity as he slowly studied the artifact, rotating it slowly with patient precision, brushing his thumb over the Trollish inscription.

“Where did you get this?” he asked pensively, his eyes never leaving the amulet.

Jim shrugged as he wracked his brain for a lie. “It’s, ah . . . I found it.”

Eyes flicked up to his. “You found it?”

“Yeah, it was just lying on the ground over by the Holland Transit bridge. It’s pretty cool.”

Mr. Strickler nodded thoughtfully. He handed it back, looking especially intrigued. “How unusual,” was all he said. He watched Jim slip it back into his pocket before offering a smile for the first time that evening. “See you in class, Young Atlas. I hope the rest of your weekend is . . . less eventful.”

Jim shut the car door and it drove away, lights flipping on to accommodate the darkening sky. The amulet was still blue, but according to its hands, he had maybe only a handful of minutes before it made its transition. And him along with it.

His mother was in the kitchen, and when she heard him enter, she stepped out into the open. Jim froze and met her eyes, and neither one said anything, but by the look on her face he knew she had a lot she wanted to say. More likely, there was a lot she wanted to hear _him_ say.

Even without the transformation looming over his head, he had nothing he wanted to talk about with her. Without a single word exchanged between them, Jim shut the door and raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. His mother didn’t follow.

As soon as he was safely within the confines of his room, he shut the door and leaned against it, forehead resting on his arm. He exhaled deeply. When he did it again, it came out as a harsh shudder, and he finally noticed the wet warmth trickling down his face.

How could something that started so well end so badly? Would he never catch a _break?_

Jim pulled out the amulet and blearily gazed down at it. The stone was still blue. It felt like an eternity before the hands aligned.

The stone flashed as it shifted to its brilliant ruby red. The amulet slipped from his fingers as they flexed and snapped into place.

The pain was a relief, and for the first time that day, he felt like he could truly breathe.

He was out the window before another second of the night was wasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact i had this chapter written in its entirety months ago (before i started uploading this story to ao3) but the direction of the upcoming chapters has changed so many times since that i ended up rewriting this chapter completely and it ended up being twice as long LOL but i also think it's significantly more interesting than before so i'm fine with it. just wish this week hadn't been such a mess so i could have spaced it out a little better (and maybe uploaded on time). probably won't hit this level of word count too often, just some things in this chapter were really tricky to describe so it got a little wordy
> 
> wish ao3 had a more convenient way of communicating with readers about delays. think i'm gonna start posting little updates on chapter progress throughout the week on my tumblr (blund3r-bust3r.tumblr) to communicate potential delays, so if anyone's curious on if a chapter's gonna be late or when to expect it, that's where to check
> 
> anyway watch kipo on netflix


	14. The Search for a Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim looks for answers in Trollmarket and gains new two allies instead. Grave news blackens the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my FUCK i could have had this uploaded yesterday but my family was like "nah" and i got wrangled into family time >:(
> 
> SO my biggest apologies for being even later this week i'm looking to catch back up soon. been a minute since we last saw jim as a troll. there's a lot of dialogue in this one. it's about as exhausting to edit as it is to write :)

“Blinky, I’m telling you. There was a troll at the concert.”

“You understand why I am skeptical?” Blinky asked, three open books in three different hands as his eyes flicked between each in rapid succession. “It’s difficult for any troll to leave Trollmarket presently, but to do so during the day? Were you listening when I said that trolls cannot survive in sunlight?”

Jim scoffed. “Okay, but he wasn’t _in_ the sun, he was _inside_ the building.”

“What reason would a troll have inside an establishment as public as this ‘convention center?’”

“That’s what I’m asking you!”

Blinky growled in frustration and shook his head before discarding one of the books through means of throwing it on the floor. Great—Jim was certain he’d be tasked with picking up the mess later. At least Blinky had the sense to set the second one down before grabbing its replacement. “Yet, you claim to have been hallucinating?”

“Okay, that was different. Those . . . _things_ I was seeing didn’t touch me. But I definitely felt the troll when he touched me!”

“How so?”

“Threatening to cut my throat open. You know, normal troll things.” Jim opened another book and briefly scanned the contents before rolling his eyes because, yep, still couldn’t read Trollish. “I’ve seen him before. Weeks ago, on one of my first nights as a troll, I caught him hanging around near my school. It looked like he was watching one of my friends.”

Blinky finally glanced up from his books, of which he’d been zealously reading, and frowned. “How do you know it was the same troll? I thought you didn’t get a very clear description.”

“I didn’t. Not either time. He wears, like, this big hooded cape thing. But I recognized his eyes—these creepy yellow rings that made me feel like my soul was being sucked out of my body.” He was met with silence and Jim glanced up, finding both Blinky and Aaarrrgghh regarding him quizzically. “What? That’s how it felt whenever he looked at me. The creepy thing was it always looked like the shadows _followed_ him.”

“Wraith?” Aaarrrgghh supplied.

“Unlikely, Aaarrrgghh. Wraiths are not physical beings, so it wouldn’t have been able to interact with Jim directly had that been the case.” Blinky turned back to Jim. “Are you saying this troll with soul-sucking eyes might be following you? Do you think he knows what you are?”

“No. I don’t think he’s following me. I think . . . I think he might be following my friend.”

“What makes you believe that?”

“Because she was with me at the concert too. That thing wasn’t interested in _me—_ he was interested in _her._ I just kept getting in his way.”

“You deliberately engaged with a troll of unknown origin?!” Blinky cried in outrage. “Your odds against a troll _as_ a troll are already slim at best, but to stand up to one while human? That’s a formal invitation to getting skinned alive!”

“Already lived it, Blink. You don’t have to remind me,” Jim muttered, instinctively rubbing at his neck where he remembered the chill of a blade.

Blinky hummed lowly in thought, looking pensive. “This is deeply troubling news. I’ve not an inkling of whom this troll might be. Aaarrrgghh?” The brute rumbled and shook his head. “It’s possible you’re dealing with a rogue troll—but one who prowls after humans? That’s unusual indeed. What significance could your friend possess?”

“Man, I don’t know. She doesn’t even know trolls exist. After yesterday, she probably thinks I’m nuts.”

“Well, how you managed to keep an entire troll a secret in a public congregation is beyond me, but color me impressed regardless. You may pride yourself in knowing you’ve done your duty to Trollmarket,” Blinky grinned.

“Yippee,” Jim grumbled, leaning his chin in his hand and shoving the book away. It clattered to the floor.

“But,” Blinky continued, his voice growing more serious, “say your fears are not unfounded—you may be seeing this troll again. I’d advise you to keep a close eye on this girl. Just to be safe.”

“Rogue trolls. Dangerous,” Aaarrrgghh added.

“Sometimes, yes. Many keep to themselves, but there are always the unpredictable variables floating around. Particularly those whom dabble in wizardry, as what you’ve described sounds to be.”

Jim nodded half-heartedly. “Good call.” Of course he planned on doing just that, but the disastrous end to his time with Claire had beaten any enthusiasm out of him. He was just so tired of being afraid of the unknown, and now he had to stay vigilant for her sake, too.

Aaarrrgghh must have sensed his low mood because he suddenly nudged him with a thick finger. Jim glanced up and Aaarrrgghh offered a supportive smile. Jim returned it in much weaker fashion and nudged him back.

“So how are we looking on this whole ‘not-changeling’ thing? Any luck?” Jim asked Blinky. Aaarrrgghh pushed him a bit harder, enough to upset his balance and pull a genuine grin out of him. He used both hands to give the brute a retaliatory shove.

“That’s the ever-present quandary. I’ve scoured countless texts in my library pertaining to the more likely schools of magic and even expanded my query to _any_ known arcane art. Alas, nothing seems to fit. I considered the possibilities of newer enchantments and hoped for a clue hiding somewhere in the history of changelings, but your condition is so utterly idiosyncratic that not even those wicked magics hold any correlation—are you even listening?!”

Jim and Aaarrrgghh, tangled in one another as each wrestled for the upper hand, froze simultaneously. At Blinky’s annoyed scowl, Aaarrrgghh released Jim and Jim slid off his shoulder to resume sitting at his spot on the stone table.

“Aaarrrgghh, don’t encourage him,” Blinky chastised the brute, to which Aaarrrgghh apologized with a low rumble. “What has you so distracted, Jim? I’d have thought the pursuit for a remedy would ignite some fervor within you.”

“I know, I’m just—” Jim sighed and smoothed his hands along his scalp, momentarily catching against his horns. “I had a pretty shitty day, and kind of just want to pretend my life on the surface doesn’t exist for a while.”

“Whatever for? You successfully and efficiently warded off this rogue troll without incident.”

“It wasn’t about the troll. Not most of it, anyway.” He fished the amulet from his pocket and stared into the shining stone, red as blood. The hands ticked intermittently in opposite directions as they moved in sync with the early morning, making their slow climb back to the twelve-o-clock position that indicated sunrise. “This friend I was with, I . . . I really like her, and it was as if everything that could possibly go wrong, _went_ wrong—in the worst ways possible. I just keeping messing things up.”

After a moment of silent consideration, Blinky gave a sage nod and set aside his books. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” he said, moving to the table to offer Jim his undivided attention. “These things sound to be out of your control.”

“But I can’t tell her that! That’s kind of the problem. So instead she gets a bunch of flimsy half-truths and a front row ticket to me having an episode. I don’t know what to do. I mean, what person in their right mind would want to put up with that?”

“Us,” Aaarrrgghh answered happily. “Always put up with Jim.”

“That’s true!” Blinky said. “Every night! You and all your strangeness, and yet, we welcome you each time with open arms.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Appreciate the sentiment, Blink, but trolls don’t count. You guys are all levels of weird.”

“To you, perhaps, because you hail from the world of humans. But to any troll looking close enough, you’re nothing short of an oddity. Safe to say, you don’t quite fit in anywhere.”

“Okay, I don’t know how pep talks work in the troll world, but that really isn’t doing it for me, you know?”

“I _mean,”_ Blinky continued, placing a solid hand on Jim’s shoulder, “we would not turn you away despite some hiccups, no matter how much they baffle us. Why not have faith in your human friend to do the same?”

“But the difference here is that _you_ know what’s up with me. She doesn’t, and she _can’t.”_

“We know _now._ We did not know prior to your slip-up, however, when we suspected there was something about you that was unusual. And yet we still did not abandon you because we wanted to believe you were no danger. Now, I’m hardly an authority on what makes you human, but if this friend of yours is truly a friend, she’ll find a reason to keep seeing the best in you, no matter the flaws.”

The smile that found its way onto Jim’s face was crooked—part amusement, part genuine appreciation. “Sounds a little rose-colored, but maybe you’re onto something.”

And maybe Blinky was right. Toby had been completely on board when he’d come clean, and his mom, though rightfully frustrated with his silence, only wanted to help. Despite the countless lying and excuses and behavioral lapses, Claire hadn’t given up on him yet.

But he still wondered how far gone he’d have to be before she decided he wasn’t worth the energy. What low point would he have to hit for her to stop coming back to him? They were still new friends and didn’t know a whole lot about the other. It wouldn’t be that hard for her to just simply . . . walk away.

He sighed, recollections of the day continuously coming despite how much he wished he could shove them into oblivion and never think about it again. He set the amulet aside on the table and dropped his face into his hand. “I think she wanted me to kiss her.”

The look Blinky gave him was out of place on his face—that is, a blankness that implied unknowing. That was not a look that fit him at all. Aaarrrgghh nodded supportively but it was clear he had no idea what he was agreeing with.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“We’ve no clue what you’re talking about,” Blinky said. Aaarrrgghh switched gears and shook his head. “Care to elaborate?”

Both trolls stared at him intently, waiting for him to respond. Finally, after the cultural gap further widened in his mind, he said drily, “Never mind. I’m not explaining it. The point is, I was kind of hoping to be more than friends with her, if you get what I’m saying. Now I’m not so sure I’ll get another chance after what happened.”

“Aha,” Blinky wagged a finger at him. _“Now_ I see where your concerns lie. Sadly, that is a solution only time will reveal. Have you spoken with her?”

“The last time she talked to me I had an epileptic ghost shouting in my ear. I tried texting her before coming down here but she didn’t respond, so I don’t know. It was really late. _Ugh,_ I just . . . wish I’d never gone to that stupid concert in the first place.”

Blinky hummed and moved over to a shelf, a single finger tracing along the spines until he found what he was looking for. He pulled it down and flipped through the pages. “I’m more concerned about these hallucinations. You say you saw a man?”

“Uh, yeah, I think. I could hear his voice in my head, like he was talking to me.”

“Can you describe this man?”

Jim thought hard about what he remembered seeing. The memory was difficult to hold onto, like it wanted to slip through his fingers and disappear into the depths of his subconscious. It also made his head hurt. “He was . . . old, I guess.”

“Any physical distinctions?”

“I don’t know, Blink, he was—” Jim pressed the heel of his palms to his forehead, a dull throbbing behind his eyes. “I didn’t get a good look. He was kind of everywhere at once.”

“Did you recognize this man?”

“No, I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

“And you’ve never experienced this before?”

“Not until yesterday. Not since, either.”

The teal troll scanned his book a moment longer before shutting it with a loud _whump!_ Dust spat into the air. He tossed the book aside and grabbed another. “What little you’re able to describe does not align with our knowledge of ghosts or other spiritual entities. Typically, for a specter to initiate contact, a preexisting connection must exist. You not recognizing this person makes that possibility extremely unlikely.”

Aaarrrgghh stepped forward, looking intrigued. “Visions.”

“Precisely what I was thinking, my friend,” Blinky replied with a short gesture. He chuckled. “Good guess.”

Jim started. “Woah, what? Like, psychic visions?”

“Not necessarily. Nothing you described sounded prophetic by any means. But it sounds like someone, or something, might be trying to get your attention.”

That was a particularly disconcerting thought. He really didn’t need any more problems on top of the ones already piling up. With a shake of his head, he asked Blinky, “Why?”

Blinky, in turn, merely shrugged. “Impossible to say. That’s something only you can determine. Visions are exceptionally rare and do not occur randomly, so something inside that building must have triggered it. Any thoughts? This mystery troll, perhaps?”

The troll would’ve been his first guess, but thinking back on it, the instances in which he _hadn’t_ been seeing things were when the troll was nearby. “No, I don’t think that’s it,” he said. “They started sooner than that, but it didn’t really hit me until I was alone. Then I ran into him, and they just . . . stopped.”

By the look on Blinky’s face, his words didn’t offer any help. The troll stood with book in hand, staring thoughtfully down at the text, occasionally turning the page—looking for a recorded explanation, most likely. After a moment, he looked up. “What did you hear?”

Just thinking about the sensation of having words screamed directly into his brain brought an unpleasant ache to his stomach. “It wasn’t clear enough to make out. I just remember the same thing being repeated over and over, like a broken record.”

With one last defeated glance at the book in his hands, Blinky closed it and set the tome on the table, off to the side. There was an illustration of a bridge on the front.

Jim peered over at it. “What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s an account of nearly a thousand years ago, back when trolls still lived on the surface. It was a more magical time—that is, where magic played a greater role in the lives of troll and mortal alike. I was hoping it might shed some insight as to what could be causing these visions of yours, but it mostly just serves as a recapitulation of failed military conquests. I’ll have to keep digging.”

The sound of Aaarrrgghh sniffing the air pulled their attention to him. “Hmm. Rhyolite . . . Ametrine . . . Heartstone.” His great nostrils flared and he turned to Blinky with a look of surprise. “Vendel.”

“Oh, he’s early,” Blinky said cheerfully. Jim stared at him in confusion and the troll happily clarified with, “I sought him for council and I believe he can be of some help regarding your condition.”

“Okay, but _Vendel?_ Like grumpy-goat-mayor-of-Trollmarket Vendel?! I thought you said I needed to keep my head down—not be advertised to the guy controlling all the freaky guards with giant spears!”

Blinky laughed as if the whole situation was amusing. “Vendel doesn’t command the Gumm-Gumm horde! They serve only the king.”

“The _what_ horde?”

“There’s nothing to fear, lad. Vendel may be harsh at the best of times, but he is as loyal to peace as they come. So long as you don’t pose any threat to Trollmarket, he’ll most assuredly . . . tolerate you.”

“That remains to be seen,” a withered voice announced from the entrance to Blinky’s cave. Jim turned in time to see the old troll descend the steps into the main library, glowing staff in hand. He didn’t look particularly pleased to be there. Almost immediately, his milky eyes landed on Jim and Jim instinctively hunched in on himself.

Aaarrrgghh dipped his head in respect of the elder and Blinky threw his hands up in greeting. “Vendel, old friend, I cannot thank you enough for this visit—”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Vendel grumbled, moving to stop directly in front of Jim. “I’m very busy, Blinkous. The only reason I’m here now is because your claim is too intriguing to ignore. If this turns out to be a farce—”

“I assure you it’s not. Both Aaarrrgghh and I have borne witness to the truth. Our youngling here is . . . well. He is both human _and_ troll.”

Vendel’s jaw tightened and he squinted, a deep scowl pinching his aged features. “So you’ve alleged.” His piercing eyes never left Jim. “And supposedly untainted by changeling magic.”

Jim, coiled tight as a spring, quickly found his voice. “I’m not a changeling. I promise, I can’t—”

He grunted as he was suddenly shoved flat against the table, the tip of Vendel’s staff roughly prodding him in the chest. “Sit still and hold your tongue, whelp. It will be less painful for you that way,” he growled impatiently. Jim swallowed hard, feeling a soothing warmth pulse through his shirt where the staff pressed into him. “These two fools are choosing to side with you. Let them make their stance.”

After a stiff, obedient nod, Vendel withdrew his staff. Jim pushed himself to his elbows but was too nervous to sit any higher. Vendel still loomed over him like an executioner looking for an excuse to remove his head.

Blinky stepped forward and placed a hand on his knee—a supportive presence, and a reminder that he was wasn’t alone. It helped settle his nerves a bit. “Like I told you, he is no threat to Trollmarket.”

“Have you used a gaggletack on him?”

“Well, no, but—”

Vendel slammed the butt of his staff on the ground. “You expect me to simply take your word for it?! Your arrogance has cost me enough already, but I’ll not forfeit Trollmarket’s security on the hopes of one troll, _especially_ you. I have half a mind to turn the boy over to Gunmar.”

 _Gunmar._ Now he remembered. That was the name in his head yesterday.

Blinky was now on a panicked defense. “If you throw him to Gunmar, he’ll be killed!”

Okay now he was _really_ nervous. He didn’t know who this Gunmar was, but he had a pretty strong feeling that it wasn’t someone he wanted to meet. “Who’s . . . Gunmar?” Jim asked, voice small.

“The Underlord of Trollmarket,” Vendel answered darkly, before Blinky could. “Protector of trollkind, and king to all trolls. I don’t care what you are—down here, he is your master.”

Their king. Gunmar . . . was their _king._

 _Kill Gunmar. Kill Gunmar._ That’s what the voice had been saying. Telling him. Kill Gunmar. Kill their king.

Kill the king of the trolls.

But _why?_

“Jim? Are you alright?”

Blinky’s voice pulled him out of his rising distress. Jim didn’t realize how rigid his muscles were until he tried to nod. His claws had begun to dig little grooves into the table’s surface and he immediately relaxed his fingers. Taking a deep breath, he said shakily, “I’m fine.”

His mentor didn’t look convinced. Vendel didn’t seem concerned either way. “I’m not going to humor this wild claim of yours until you prove to me he’s not a changeling. Do you have a gaggletack or not?”

For a moment, Blinky merely stood there drumming his fingers together. When Vendel’s eyes narrowed he jumped and nodded fervently.

“Blinky,” Aaarrrgghh moaned, sounding both surprised at the answer and disappointed.

“It’s not like I _wanted_ to believe it, but . . .” Blinky shrugged uneasily. “Draal did manage to put some ill thoughts in my head and one can never be too careful.” He disappeared behind a bookshelf and the sound of shuffling objects could be heard before he reappeared with a silvery object in hand.

Wait.

“Is that a horseshoe?” Jim wondered aloud.

All three trolls paused to stare at him in confusion. “What do horses have to do with it?” Blinky asked, sounding just as puzzled as he felt.

Yeah, okay.

“Is this gonna hurt?” he asked anxiously as Blinky drew near, eyeing the brandished horseshoe like it might burn a hole through his body. Which, for all he knew, it might.

“Not if you cooperate,” Vendel answered. “Though, that may change depending on the outcome. Aaarrrgghh, hold him steady.”

Massive hands grabbed his shoulders from behind and pinned him back against the table. Jim instinctively tried to sit up but Aaarrrgghh didn’t let him budge. The brute gazed down at him apologetically, visibly uncomfortable with the situation but unwilling to disobey the elderly troll.

“Vendel, is this really necessary?” Blinky asked, wincing when Vendel swiped the horseshoe out of his hand. “You’re terrifying the boy.”

“Good. Let him understand that these matters warrant severe scrutiny and are dealt with extreme prejudice.”

Vendel thrust the horseshoe at him. Jim flinched, screwing his eyes shut when he felt solid iron press to his chest.

He felt the chill of metal seep through his shirt. Nothing else happened.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the thundering of his heart as it pounded in his ribcage. Jim cracked an eye open and glanced around tentatively, noting the stillness in which the trolls stood. Vendel’s eyes were wide with genuine surprise. With a curious grumble, Vendel poked his chest again. Then his belly. Jim recoiled when the horseshoe was suddenly in his face, prodding at his cheek.

A single, nervous hiccup of a laugh came from Blinky. “You see, Vendel? Nothing to worry about.”

“So he’s not a changeling,” Vendel mused. “What reason do I have to believe he’s also human?”

“Do you think I’d be brave enough, let alone so inconsiderate, as to waste your time on a practical joke?”

“Why not? You’ve wasted my time for less.” Vendel threw aside the horseshoe—it clattered loudly on the table. He gestured for Aaarrrgghh to stand down and Aaarrrgghh gladly released Jim, helping him sit upright and patting him gently on the horns. “Come here, boy. Let me take a look at you.”

Timidly, Jim did as he was told, shifting to the edge of the table. He kept his head lowered, too intimidated to meet the elder’s gaze head-on, and didn’t struggle when Vendel began poking him experimentally with his fingers. All the while, Blinky explained the situation.

“His appearance is tethered to the positioning of the sun. This is the form he takes from dusk till dawn. Otherwise he is fully human. Aaarrrgghh and I have seen it ourselves.”

Vendel angled Jim’s head this way and that, pulling on his ears, tapping on his tusks and forcing his jaw down to peer into his mouth, studying him closely. Jim winced when he felt tugging on one of his horns. “As far as I can tell, there’s nothing unusual about him. He’s lacking physical signs of wear normally present in a troll his age—silt stains, horn abrasions, scars—but otherwise he’s perfectly normal. The most egregious offender is that his teeth are too clean.”

“Actually, Vendel, he does have scars. On his arm.”

The elder’s eyes dropped, landing on where Jim’s arm rested in his lap. He scooped it up in his burly hand and scanned the old wounds, brow furrowing in concentration. His eyes flicked up to Jim’s. “How did these happen?”

“A b-bite. From a troll,” he answered. “A troll bit me. That’s how this started happening.”

Vendel blinked. Then he frowned. “A simple bite from a troll cannot cause this. You would be far from the first to meet the maw of a troll and survive. An enchantment designed to cause such dramatic alteration would require immense power, and that’s humoring the idea that it even exists in the first place.”

“That’s precisely why we require your expertise,” Blinky said, stepping closer. “I don’t know the intricacies of magic like you do, and Jim here desperately needs help.”

The old troll never took his eyes off Jim. For a moment, he simply stared, and Jim shifted uncomfortably under his sharp gaze. Then his eyes narrowed and he suddenly leaned much closer, nearly touching noses, and hummed thoughtfully.

“I see now,” the elder muttered. Thick fingers pressed against Jim’s brow and pulled up. “Your eyes give it away. They don’t match the rest of you. There’s a softness there—an innocence only present in one who hasn’t lived very long. Not a troll in this market or on this earth shares that trait.” He pulled away, stroking at the thin strands of grayed fur hanging from his chin. “I wonder . . .”

Without warning, he pulled a small dagger from one of his pouches and thrust the tip of the blade against Jim’s arm, effectively piercing the skin. Immediately Jim yelped in shocked pain and tore his arm away, crushing it to his chest. Thick, warm blood leaked through the cracks between his fingers. He heard Blinky gasp and Aaarrrgghh shudder.

“Just as I suspected,” Vendel nodded, no sign of an apology anywhere on his face as he shoved the dagger back into its sheath. “You’re only _part_ troll. Whatever’s causing this is only affecting the outside, like a shell. But on the inside, you’re still very much human. Whatever twisted magic is at work, it’s not strong enough to change all of you.”

The cut in his arm stung, but the pain barely registered. Jim glanced between each troll with wide eyes. “Trolls don’t bleed,” he repeated, remembering what Blinky had told him.

“Correct, Jim,” Blinky answered. “Trolls don’t bleed. We don’t have blood. Made of stone—inside and out.”

“And I suggest,” Vendel began, pointing at the red stickiness smeared along his arm, “that you keep it _inside_ of you. You pass for a troll, but if any were to look close enough . . .” His voice lowered, darkening. “I don’t believe Gunmar would be very thrilled to discover yet another breed of magical anomaly within his walls. Changelings are already ordered to be killed on sight. I imagine the same curtesy would be extended to you.”

Aaarrrgghh shook his head. “King doesn’t listen. Won’t reason. Will kill you,” he warned, poking Jim with a finger.

Jim turned back to Blinky. “What for?”

“It’s nothing personal, lad. He doesn’t trust those who are not like us. The war for the surface left our kind in ruins, and our king’s not willing to chance another devastating conflict.”

Something hesitant rumbled in Vendel’s throat and Blinky looked at him questioningly. He shook his head and ignored the six-eyes on him. “Do you know the troll who did this to you?”

“No,” Jim answered.

Vendel nodded. “I will look into it, but I can’t promise much. Without the troll responsible, I’m afraid there’s only so much that guesswork can accomplish. In the meantime, you two—” He gestured sharply at Blinky and Aaarrrgghh. “—keep a close eye on him. Do not let him wander alone. Do not let him draw attention to himself. If you want him to remain alive, you will keep him invisible. Understand?”

“Invisible,” Aaarrrgghh repeated. Blinky grinned confidently.

Vendel, seemingly satisfied, turned back to Jim. “Your secret will stay safe with me. However, make no mistake: Trollmarket comes before all else. If you or your actions serve to endanger this haven in any way, I will not hesitate to defend it. Am I clear?”

Jim straightened with an eager nod. “Thank you, Vendel.”

The elder troll offered a loose salute before making for the exit, the warmth of his radiant staff following him. Aaarrrgghh dipped his head in respect as he passed. Then he disappeared around the corner.

They all stared after where he’d vanished. Eventually, Jim broke the silence. “He scares me.”

“You’re wise to be afraid. It makes you careful,” Blinky told him. He glanced over at the amulet on the table next to Jim. “It’s getting close to morning. Why don’t you walk with me? I’ll show you out.”

Jim pursed his lips, having no desire to return to the surface so soon. He wasn’t ready to face all the consequences of his disastrous day. He wasn’t ready to be reminded of everything. But instead of arguing, he nodded wordlessly and grabbed the amulet before hopping off the table.

“Bye, Jim,” Aaarrrgghh called after them, staying behind to move all the books on the floor to the table for organizing later.

Trollmarket was bustling as usual. The main road was always a tight squeeze that didn’t lessen until they stepped onto the first branching path, where the crowds began to thin considerably. Blinky walked with both pairs of hands behind his back, chin high and looking cheerful. Jim wished he could match his optimism.

“Have you tried sleeping again at all?” Blinky asked.

“Blink, it’s only been a day. I can do that much.”

“Fair enough. Just don’t forget to rest here and there. Once a week, at least.”

“It’s hard. Sleeping.”

The troll nodded. “Still, you should try. Sleep depravity is a burden on the mind.”

Jim shrugged. They continued in silence. The noise of the market was dimming the further away they moved.

“Before you head for the gyre station, I want to show you something,” Blinky said suddenly.

Jim hopped out of the way of an incoming troll pulling a cart filled with giant insect carcasses, probably making his way to the pub for delivery. For the millionth time since discovering the place, Jim could not get over what sort of atrocities the trolls put in their mouths for fun. “What is it?”

“If I told you, it’d ruin the surprise.”

That had his curiosity piqued. He quickly kept pace with his mentor as Blinky led him down a new path, one he’d never been on before. It was narrow and fed into a low tunnel, which eventually opened up into a spacious cavern. Within lay all manner of tools, metal scraps, and junkyard debris.

But the most engaging thing in the room was the mismatched monstrosity of a pickup truck sitting right in the middle. Blinky gestured at it in an excited flourish. “Here we are!” he declared happily. “I present to you: my latest endeavor! And also my saving grace in this lockdown. My sanity thanks me.”

Jim stared in wonder at the vehicle. “Blinky, did you—did you _build this?”_

“I did, indeed! It’s something I’ve picked away at for decades, but Vendel’s lockdown has presented me with the means to really get down to brass tacks and finally finish it. It’s fitted with an eight-cylinder twin-turbo engine I salvaged from an old Ford back in 2009. The struts were specifically picked for their off-road capabilities, seeing as how we’re underground. And the best part? Faux leather seats!”

The body of the truck was a hideous Frankenstein composite of countless models stitched together, probably acquired separately through the years. Despite the amalgamated appearance, it was still an incredible display of mechanical craftsmanship, and not a skill he expected a troll to possess. It felt soundly pieced together under Jim’s hand as he felt along the front bumper, popping the hood to take a quick gander at the tangle of rusted metal and exposed wires hidden beneath.

“Is this why you were at the scrapyard the night we met?” he asked the troll, shutting the hood with a satisfying _click!_

“Yes. And many nights before that, very much against Vendel’s orders. Aaarrrgghh has been helping me haul the necessary pieces down here. You were, of course, quite the unexpected surprise, but it has since occurred to me that you might be exactly what I now need.”

“Why is that?” The answer Jim received was an expectant grin from Blinky. Jim glanced between the truck, his mentor, the truck again, a frown forming as he finally caught on. “I’m not teaching you how to drive.”

“You’re an adolescent. Don’t you drive?”

“No, but—I know how to drive. I mean I’m _refusing_ to teach you how to drive.”

“Whatever for? It’s an equipped motorized vehicle! Fully furnished! Starts up and everything! It even has a horn.” To prove his point, Blinky stuck his head through the open window and slammed his hand down on the steering wheel, making Jim jump as he was blasted by the worst sound he’d ever had the pleasure of hearing.

After the ringing in his ears subsided, he said, “Blinky, three things terrify me in this world. This Gunmar guy; my mom when she hasn’t had her morning coffee; and the thought of you getting behind the wheel. I don’t even have my license.”

“Is that important?” At the unimpressed glare Jim gave him, Blinky’s smile faded. “Come on, lad. I just got it running this week. It needs a test drive!”

“It’s not even street legal!”

Blinky cocked his head. “Define ‘street legal.’”

Jim exhaled in exasperation, stammering as he tried to figure out where to start. “Okay, well, right off the bat, you don’t have license plates, and you can’t get those unless it’s registered in the state of California. You’d get pulled over. There are no headlights here, and I’m going to take a wild guess and assume there’s no taillights either. You can’t drive without working lights.”

“What would I need headlights for? Troll vision is impeccable in the dark.”

Jim pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed. “ _Other cars_ need to be able to see you too, Blink. You’d get pulled over for that too. And—and you don’t even have seatbelts! At least read a DMV handbook and learn basic road safety!”

Blinky looked over the vehicle, brow furrowed in thought as he considered Jim’s words. “Perhaps it could use a few more things. The last thing I’d want is to be a hazard to others.”

“Well, at least we’re on the same page.”

The look on Blinky’s face had fallen considerably from the initial enthusiasm he’d entered the cave with. Jim felt bad, especially since Blinky was working so hard to help him sort out his own problems. The last thing he wanted was his mentor being disappointed.

With a defeated breath, he muttered, “Maybe we can take it out one of these nights. In the woods, _far away_ from town.”

Blinky brightened immediately, his mismatched teeth sparkling in the cavern’s crystal lights. He threw an arm around Jim’s shoulders and flattened him against his side. “Ha! The thrills of the surface world. I envy you, you know.” His smile was warm. “And it doesn’t have to be only _my_ thing. It can be _our_ thing. A vehicular duo—mentor and ward. Together, we can make an efficient—and _safe—_ driving team.”

Jim snickered under his breath, unable to resist leaning into Blinky’s embrace. He had to clear the lump from his throat—why it was there at all, he didn’t know. “Sounds like fun, Blink. But I’m driving.”

Blinky’s grin widened. “We’ll take turns.”

They headed to the gyre station after that, Jim leading the way with horngazel in hand. He heard the telltale ringing of the amulet’s hand click into place as soon as they entered the room. An instant later, the pain hit him, and he crumpled to the floor as his blue shell was shed.

Four hands grabbed him and pulled him deeper into the shadows, away from the door and view of Trollmarket, before gingerly holding him through the remainder of it. Jim gasped as he was left trembling and shivering, feeling naked without stone encasing his body. The sweat on his skin was uncomfortably cold in the dank air.

He glanced up and found Blinky staring at him, upside-down, with extreme concern. “Are you alright?” the troll asked.

With a deep sigh, Jim wiped at his face and shakily climbed to his feet, using Blinky for support. “I’m fine. It’s not as bad as it used to be.”

Blinky didn’t look entirely convinced, but he nodded anyway. He grabbed the horngazel from the floor, which had slipped from Jim’s fingers once the transformation had begun, and handed it back with a small, mournful smile. “We’ll fix this,” he promised.

Jim knew better than to hope.

Before the portal closed, Blinky called to him: “Will we be seeing you tomorrow night?”

“Probably not. I gotta study. Math exam on Monday that I’m not ready for. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Very well. Until then, lad. Perhaps we’ll have made headway when you return!”

The broken section of wall rematerialized, taking Blinky with it and leaving Jim alone in the sewers. With a resigned sigh, he began his way down the tunnel, his feet lightly splashing through the shallow murkiness on the floor. His trusty troll eyes were gone, and the amulet’s sapphire glow guided him through the dark in their stead.

Kill Gunmar. _Kill Gunmar._ Was that a command directed at him? But what purpose would killing the king of the trolls serve? They weren’t harming anyone . . . usually. Removing their leader seemed like a quick trip to unrestrained chaos.

And how in the hell would he even _pull that off?_

He shook his head. Whatever, he thought. It was just another layer of craziness added to the madness sandwich that was his life. Not like it would ever happen, anyway, hallucinogenic man screaming at him or not. He had no beef with the king.

Something heavy drew up behind him and Jim froze, his heart leaping into his throat. Sneaking a slow glance over his shoulder, the familiar feelings of dread and terror seized him as he found himself staring into the glowing eyes of a looming troll. Hot, putrid breath blew his hair back as it snorted.

The next thing he knew, he was on his back, the wind knocked from his lungs. The amulet flew from his grasp and clattered to a stop nearby. Foul stickiness soaked his shirt and made it cling to his skin, chilling him to the bone. Above him, the troll snarled.

“So the runt shows his true face,” a familiar voice mused. Jim felt the blood drain from his face.

Draal.

He threw himself backwards, scrambling over muck and filth, his only concern being to put as much distance between himself and the angry brute prowling after him. “You may be clever enough to fool Blinkous, but you cannot fool _me_ ,” Draal growled. “I see right through your little charade.”

Words caught halfway up Jim’s throat and came out as a choked splutter. “Draal, listen, I-I’m not a changeling, I swear! They even—they even did the horseshoe thing—”

“Enough of your games!”

Jim flinched into a tight ball as Draal slammed his fists down on either side of him, splashing him in sewage. The troll roared furiously in his face and Jim knew it was the end for him.

“That’s enough, Draal. You’ve had your fun.”

It took Jim a long time for the words to register through the ringing in his ears, and whose voice they belonged to. Slowly, he unraveled his quaking limbs and peered into the dark just as Draal chuffed out a laugh and straightened, giving him room to breathe.

A warm and radiant staff, burning like a beacon and chasing the shadows away, rounded the corner, followed by its wielder. Vendel’s pale form was like a hulking ghost in the low light; a contrast to how Draal’s azure skin melted into the murk. His milky eyes were dim.

Jim inhaled shakily. “Vendel, what . . . what—?”

“My apologies, young one. Draal insisted,” the elderly troll said. Draal, in turn, offered a hand to Jim, his teeth flashing as he grinned in amusement. Jim stared nervously at the prosthetic fingers inches from his face, but after a calming breath, he took it. The azure troll pulled him a little too high into the air before recognizing the mistake and lowering him until his feet hit the ground. Vendel hummed from nearby. “My, you truly _are_ human. And a slight one at that.”

Jim frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It _means_ you’re not even fit to be a meal, you stubby little fleshbag,” Draal answered. Jim’s eyes flicked between the two, his mind reeling. He took a step back and gestured at Draal.

“Okay, so let me get this straight. You’re _not_ going to kill me? Even though I’m . . . you know.”

“Your word checked out,” Draal explained. “After what you said, I went and dug around my father’s cave and found pages upon pages of entries written by his hand—information related to an investigation he was running against Gunmar.”

“Gunmar . . . your king?”

“I know that might sound strange, but Gunmar is no benevolent soul,” Vendel said gravely. “Some shred of mercy may have existed in his heart many ages ago, but it has since been blackened by hardship and tragedy and anger. His eye is set for the surface, and he is far too ancient for his mind to be changed. I certainly don’t want to alarm you, but you deserve to know what the future holds—the Underlord plans to march against humankind.”

That was . . . not news Jim wanted to hear. Not on top of _everything else._

“And has been for centuries,” Draal added. “My father suspected this plot long ago and has been logging his findings ever since. Gunmar is using changelings to weaken the world above. He had my father, the general to his army, murdered for this discovery.”

“Who that murderer is has yet to be discovered,” Vendel continued. He smiled thinly at Jim. “But as it turns out, we have an eye-witness.”

Jim shook his head as everything processed. He replayed everything in his head—once, twice—before exhaling sharply. “I thought Gunmar hated changelings.”

“He does. However, nothing matches his hatred for humanity. Not even changelings. He figures if changelings could upset the balance once, they could do it again. They are his secret weapon—but little does he know, we have one too.”

“What?”

“You.”

That made Jim pause, and for a moment, nobody said anything. Finally, he cried, “I’m your _what?”_

Draal chuckled and crossed his arms. “Our eyes above ground. You may be a scrawny mutt, but you have a troll’s strength. There may come a time where you need it to protect your loved ones, as you did against me. Sorry about that, by the way.”

Vendel bobbed his head in agreement. “Gunmar sought to use Kanjigar’s death as an excuse to rally the trolls against humans. For many, the war is still fresh in their minds, and they’ve no desire to break the peace we’ve kept for centuries. I’m doing what I can to slow him down, and Draal’s discovery has allowed me to shift the blame from humans to an unknown troll. No doubt Gunmar is already at work to undermine my precautions.”

“Why does he need an excuse?” Jim asked. “Isn’t he the king? Can’t he just command them to fight humans?”

“It’s not that simple. Trolls are spread far and wide across the continent, and even living oceans away. Without the support of the clans, Gunmar would only be sending Trollmarket to its doom and exposing trollkind to the world. As our king, he is sworn to protect us and our future, not forsake it for a selfish grudge, so to convince the other clans to take up arms, he needs a damned good reason. Otherwise, they will simply refuse.”

Well, that was a shred of good news. Miniscule in the flood of terrible, but a bright side regardless. It means they had time. Not knowing exactly how much, though, was what scared Jim the most. “What am I supposed to do?”

Draal stepped forward. “Keep your head down, and keep your fellow humans safe. Arcadia needs a protector, and if things get messy, that protector may just have to be you. So be _careful._ Gunmar has waited centuries for his chance—he’ll wait a little longer for you to expose us.”

With a shaky nod, Jim muttered, “Okay.”

Looked like Toby’s plan was no longer an option. It was a necessity.

Draal handed him the amulet, which he’d retrieved from the floor. It was covered in grime. Then he gave Jim a firm pat on the back, making him lurch forward as he fought to keep his balance. “Have no fear, halfling. I’ll teach you how to fight like a _real_ troll.”

With an unconscious swallow, Jim chuckled nervously, looking forward to absolutely nothing about that promise.

* * *

The air was getting colder as the year slipped further into fall, and the early morning was not kind to Jim’s clammy state. By the time he made it home, his teeth chattered and he shivered uncontrollably. No doubt he smelled like a sewage treatment plant.

Much to his never-ending chagrin, he discovered through a half-hearted glance at his phone that Claire had, in fact, not texted him back at any point during the night. And he didn't expect that to change through the day. Or any subsequent day after that.

He entered through the back door, as he always did, using the cover of the forest to camouflage his journey to the backyard, and the fence to obscure the last stretch to the house. Carefully, he checked for signs of his mother, and upon finding none, stepped into the kitchen. His feet left behind slimy footprints on the wood floor.

There was nothing more enjoyable than coming home from the sewers every single goddamn morning. He was surprised his skin hadn’t started melting or peeling off or something by now. His new favorite place was quickly becoming the shower, and his clothes had a near-permanent home in the washer.

Speaking of which, he _really_ needed new ones soon. His shirt was shredding at the seams and it was impossible to determine the original color of his sweatpants. They were getting a little uncomfortable to wear.

Like always, showering made him feel a million times better. The aches and pains that lingered from his morning transformation seemed to wash away with the dirt and dust. Once he was clean and wearing fresh clothes, he felt a little more alive.

That is, until he opened the bathroom door and found himself frozen in place by his mother’s rigid gaze, her eyes holding a million questions behind confusion and glassy fatigue. Serves him right for not checking for her car in the driveway. She was in her scrubs, but by the dark circles under her eyes it was impossible to tell if she was due for a shift or just recently finished one. He could never keep her schedule straight.

Like the night before, she didn’t say anything. Just stood there looking at him, a hand on the bannister, waiting for him to make the first move. And, like the night before, he kept his mouth firmly shut. He brushed his wet bangs out of his eyes and made for the stairs, walking right past her.

“Hungry?” he asked quietly once he was halfway down. She didn’t grace him with an answer, but she did follow him. It wasn’t until her foot hit the ground floor did she finally speak.

“Where have you been?” were the words that followed him. He’d expected something about the fiasco from the day before. Certainly not this. She’d noticed he’d been gone. He didn’t have the energy to care.

With a shrug, he muttered a simple, “Out.”

“Okay.” Her tone was patient, but there was a weariness to her words. She didn’t speak again until after he’d finished fishing around in the fridge for the eggs and setting them on the counter. “You just . . . stay out all night now?”

He grabbed a pan and set it on the stove. “Sometimes.”

Another moment filled with only the noise of him shuffling around the kitchen. “I know I can’t make you take those pills. I’m not going to try. I just wish . . . I’d feel a little better knowing what you’re up to. If you’d just talk to me—”

 _“Talk_ to you?” Jim said sharply, finally turning to face her. “Do you really want to hear about how I got arrested? Or how I made myself look like a nutcase in front of Claire? Or how I can’t sleep? How _messed up_ I am?!”

“Honey, you’re not messed up.”

He chuckled humorlessly and shoved his sleeve up, brandishing the pale lesions on his forearm. “Yeah? Tell that to everything that’s happened since _this.”_

She watched him cover them again as he grabbed an egg from the carton. “I don’t understand why these things have to be secret, and you’re not allowing me to understand. Why won’t you talk to me?”

 _I’m protecting you._ Those were the words in his head, but what came out was a repeat of what he’d said to Mr. Strickler. “It’s none of your business.” His mother gaped at him, but he didn’t budge. Instead he scowled at her. “What are you telling Strickler?”

She pressed a hand to her forehead and sighed. “Jim—”

“Why is he even involved in this? He’s not family. He lost that chance.”

“I don’t know who else I can turn to,” she snapped, surprising him. “You’re scaring me to death, and worst still, I don’t have a clue about what’s going on. Who am I supposed to talk to if you won’t?”

“No one! Just . . . stay _out_ of it!”

The egg burst in his fist and splattered everywhere—on the counter, on the floor, on his shirt. He stared down in shock as his fingers slowly uncurled, revealing the shattered remains of the shell in his palm. Thick strands of yolk dripped lazily from his trembling hand.

A few stiff seconds passed of him willing his anger to dissipate. Numbly, he moved to the sink. His mother watched him pensively as he rinsed the egg off. “He told me you hurt your hands yesterday,” she said softly. “Something about cuts from glass. Is that true?”

Jim pulled his hand out from under the stream of water, excess droplets running over smooth, unbroken skin. He turned it over, back to front, holding it high enough for her to see. “Guess he lied,” he mumbled, grabbing the towel to dry it off.

She sighed. Deeply and enervated. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning up the mess,” he said, moving onto wiping down the counter.

“No, Jim. I mean, _what_ are you doing?” She was suddenly cold, severe, and standing very close. “What’s your plan? To just wait for your problems to go away on their own? To keep up this pretense that you can handle everything? These aren’t things you can simply ignore and hope disappear.”

“Believe me, I’m well aware of that,” he huffed.

“Then why do you insist on dealing with this alone?”

“Mom, it’s not a scratch you can slap a band-aid on or a broken bone you can stick in plaster. It’s deeper than that. You can’t help me.”

“Since when am I unfit to take care of my own son?”

“Since something happened to me that you can’t fix!” he shouted, slapping the towel onto the counter and bumping the pan’s handle, knocking it off the stove in the process. It clattered noisily on the floor. “I can take care of myself, okay? It’s not like I haven't been for years. So just leave me alone and stop _worrying about it!”_

He hadn’t meant to say that. The regret hit him the moment her expression grew pained. It wasn’t like him to blame her for how demanding her job was—because he _didn’t_ blame her. He was just angry at . . . himself, mostly. Because how can he be angry at her for caring? How can she be wrong for being afraid?

Jim took a deep breath and sighed. “Mom, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

His mother shook her head. “I’m going to work,” she muttered hoarsely before promptly exiting the kitchen. For a moment, Jim stood where he was, frozen in place. Then he made to follow, to slow her down and apologize, to make it up to her somehow—

She was already halfway out the door with her purse slung over her shoulder. But, for a second, she paused, and he thought he’d get his chance. Until she threw a glance over her shoulder and paralyzed him in place.

“I love you, Jim,” she said. It felt like the air was punched from his lungs. “Enjoy your day alone. I know that’s what you like.”

Then she shut the door hard behind her. The sound echoed in his ears for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he remembered how to breathe, and it made his chest ache so fiercely he pressed a hand to it.

She was right. What _was_ he doing? He was lost and angry and scared and . . . he was taking it out on her. His mother was the last person on earth whom deserved that.

How was he going to protect her from Gunmar if he couldn’t even protect her from himself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case i don't upload before saturday happy over the garden wall season and that thing on saturday too i guess


	15. One Hit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trolls look to make a troll out of Jim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wtf when did i write 100k words for this why did nobody tell me
> 
> happy hawwoween i totally could have posted this yesterday but i really needed fresh eyes to edit this many words so here we are. if i hear a single child knock on my door to extort me for candy i'm gettin me mallet

“Man, why don’t you just talk to her?”

“Cause she doesn’t want to talk to me,” Jim grumbled. He closed his bag and slammed his locker shut. “Look at this,” he said, taking out his phone and showing the screen to Toby. “I texted her once before I went down to Trollmarket and four times yesterday. No response. Now I just look crazy _and_ desperate.”

 _“Or_ like you want to clear things up?” Toby grinned optimistically.

“Yeah, good idea. ‘Hey, Claire! Sorry about what happened Saturday—my mutant brain can’t handle loud noises and a magical troll framed me for vandalism. Also, I’m seeing things that aren’t actually there!’ Thanks, Tobes, I’m sure she’ll totally appreciate _that_ being cleared up.”

“Yeesh. Just trying to be supportive,” Toby muttered under his breath. “I mean talk to her in person. Maybe after letting it rest for a couple days, she’ll be more receptive?”

Jim sighed and leaned against his locker, pressing a hand to his eyes. There was a deep ache in his bones from his previous night in Trollmarket and it was wearing on him. “I can’t. I can’t even stand the _thought_ of facing her after that. And her mom was there . . . I probably managed to humiliate Claire more than myself.”

“Well, if you ask _me—”_

“I’m not.”

“If you ask me, I’d say you’re blowing it way out of proportion. Give her some credit, dude. Look, she’s right over there. Why don’t you go say hi—”

“Oh, _god,”_ Jim hissed, spotting her entering the courtyard with her friends. She was too engaged in conversation to notice him so he quickly turned on his heel and walked the other way.

“—and just explain that you were having a bad day or someth—hey, where are you going?”

Jim was already in the hall by the time Toby caught up. His pace was brisk and it was clear by his friend’s huffing that it wasn’t appreciated.

“Dude, slow down! Your legs are way longer than mine!” Jim stopped and regarded his panting friend with annoyance. Toby straightened and readjusted his backpack; then he took a deep breath and frowned. “You’re such a wuss.”

“I am _not—”_

“You stood up to a whole ass troll who was threatening to kill me! And then you did the same for Claire _without_ your nighttime buff. But you’re afraid of _talking to her?_ What’s wrong with you? This is the one time something’s not life and death and you’re just running away.”

Jim groaned—because Toby had a point. It sounded unreasonably lame. “You’re right, I know. I’m just . . . procrastinating, I guess.”

“Well, class isn’t for another few minutes. You have a chance here.”

He bounced on his feet, drumming his fingers nervously over his bag’s strap. A few moments passed of him mentally hyping himself up before he finally bit his lip and shook his head. “Nope,” he said, popping the “p,” and resumed his march down the hall towards class.

Toby stood in place, dumbstruck. “Seriously?” he called after him. Jim shrugged but didn’t slow or turn around. Not until he was safely confined within the walls of history class.

The room was still mostly sparse of students, as most were in the habit of not arriving until the last second—a natural consequence of grade progression, because the opposite had been true three years ago as freshmen. Now everyone savored their freedom in the halls as much as possible. Well, mostly everyone.

Three other people were already sat at their desks: Shannon Longhannon next to the wall, Eli front and center, and—

Steve. But instead of hiding in the back like he had been, he’d returned to his usual seat, which was kitty-corner to Jim’s own desk. His face, still spotty but slowly healing, was resting in hand as he stared vacantly out the window at the muted colors of Arcadia Oaks, grayed from an overcast sky. He hadn’t noticed Jim enter.

Until Jim sat down. Jim tried to be as delicate as possible in his approach, as if Steve were an animal easily spooked, and the descent into his chair was slow and deliberate. No sudden movements. He kept his eyes far away from the kid behind him.

He felt Steve staring his way, but at least he hadn’t scared him off. That was a good sign. And when he continued to feel eyes boring into the back of his head, he snuck a glance over his shoulder.

Steve dropped his gaze out of reflex, but after seemingly catching himself, he forced himself to meet Jim’s eyes. “Heard you ruined that concert over the weekend,” he said, voice a little nasally from the splint on his nose.

Holy _fuck,_ Jim thought. No wonder Steve was suddenly brave enough to interact with him again. His eyes rolled of their own accord.

“Hey, I thought that shit was funny. Didn’t think you had it in you.” Jim arched a brow and Steve shrugged timidly. He muttered, “Though, I guess you’re just way different this year.”

That wasn’t a fond reminder. Jim angled himself more openly and dropped his chin into his hand. “Does it hurt?” he asked, gesturing to Steve’s fading bruises when the boy looked confused.

“Oh. Nah, not really anymore. My nose is still kinda sore, but the doc says I can get this stupid thing off after this week.” His face lit up. “Yo, wait a sec. That was your mom! I was like, ‘woah, hold up. This lady’s got the same name as Jim.’ How is she single?”

“God—okay. I’m changing the topic.” Jim straightened and faced him directly. “Steve, I’m sorry about the fight. Really. I feel horrible about what I did. You didn’t deserve what happened.”

“Woah, Lake, chill. Jesus. I know you feel bad. Kinda obvious with how you’ve been moping around all guilty-like. That fight just . . . made me realize some things. Kinda got a good read on who my real friends are.”

Jim’s eyes wandered around the room—at the empty seats lining every row. It spoke volumes louder than words. And it made him feel . . . sad for the guy, despite the years of unprompted torment. Because even when the bad things in Jim’s life never seemed to stop one-upping the previous recently, he knew he always had a friend or two to fall back on.

Steve’s reign had been built on a shallow concept of peer superiority. Upon losing that, he had nothing.

Jim’s fingertips tapped his desk, looking for something to say. What _did_ he say to that? “Um . . . if you . . . ever want someone to hang with at lunch . . . I can probably convince Toby.”

The boy’s eyes widened in surprise before his brow quickly furrowed. “Oh, come on. I’m not chilling with a couple of dorks.” He pursed his lips and drummed his fingers together, eyes dropping. “But . . . maybe if Claire was there . . . she’s way cooler than you guys, so.”

Well, at least he sounded a bit more like the old Steve. That was enough for him. Then Steve did something surprising—he extended his arm and offered his fist. Jim was so shocked he almost forgot it was a universal invitation.

“This doesn’t mean we’re cool,” Steve said suddenly, making Jim pause halfway. “I’m still pissed about you breaking my face. But that deal with the concert was pretty awesome, so . . . respect.” Jim tapped his knuckles against Steve’s, ignoring how backhanded that compliment really was. “Why’d it take almost four years for Cool Jim to come out?” the boy chuckled under his breath.

 _Cool Jim._ What a way to word it.

That was the moment students finally filtered in for class. Steve and Jim turned their attentions back to their own desks like nothing happened—but for Jim, it was a relief to get that off his chest. He could sit easy knowing he’d done at least one thing right. Animated chatter drew his attention and through the stream of kids walking through the door he saw Toby bantering away with Mary, Darci, and Claire, as cheerful as always.

That bastard. Jim scowled and dropped his eyes into his lap as they all took their seats, waiting until Toby was comfortably situated next to him before leaning over and hissing an indignant, “I hate you.”

“Bite me.”

“You know damn well that can be arranged.”

Claire was situated at her desk near Toby but Jim was trying so hard to look elsewhere that he couldn’t tell if she’d glanced his way at any point. When he snuck a glance, her attention was on her books, allowing him the opportunity to groan quietly to himself and bury his face into his arms.

Toby nudged him with an elbow and gestured to her with a thumb. _Talk to her,_ he mouthed with a pointed glare. Jim made a rude gesture at him just as the door flew open.

“Apologies for my delay, class,” Mr. Strickler quickly announced as he strut across the room, his long legs carrying him to his desk in only a few strides. “I had some unexpected business that required my attention. Let’s resume where we left off with the Islamic Golden Age in our textbooks. Turn to page . . .”

Class was torture. Knowing Claire sat mere feet away made it impossible to focus, and that was piled on top of him being behind in the material after being late on Friday. Most of his time was spent with head down and nose buried in historical text, retaining none of it. Every once in a while, he felt the prickle of Toby’s pressing eyes burning a hole in the side of his head, and as much as he tried to ignore it, there came a point where he lost his patience and sat up to glare at him.

Except Toby was solidly immersed in his own class work. The eyes on him belonged to Claire, who was giving him a sidelong glance from where she sat. Immediately, he winced and pressed his face into his hands, feeling shame wash over him like a molten flood.

Draal should have just killed him in the sewers the other morning. It would have been a kindness.

The bell couldn’t ring soon enough. By the time it finally did, he was ready to burst right out of his skin—but that sweet, obnoxious sound granted him such relief it felt euphoric, and he sagged in his chair with a thankful sigh. Jim made to shove his textbook into his bag, but it was suddenly knocked out of his hand.

“Oops. Sorry, bro,” Toby shrugged, already packed and halfway out of his seat. Jim frowned at him before picking the book off the floor and stuffing it safely away. Then his notebooks went flying off his desk and he shot upright in confusion. “Oh, god. Oh, no—my bad, buddy.”

“What are you _doing?”_

“Man, I’m just knocking over everything, aren’t I? Clumsy me.”

“At least help me pick up—”

“No can do, Jimbo. Gotta run. Good luck though!”

The roiling feelings of bewilderment and outrage was enough to root Jim on the spot, and he watched Toby hightail it out of the room without him with a slacked jaw. The rest of the students funneled out, none paying attention to the mess of schoolwork on the floor as they fled for the brief freedom granted between periods. Even Mr. Strickler had already gone.

With a nonplussed shake of his head, Jim pushed from his seat and began scooping up the papers from the floor and shoving them into his bag. He reached for the remaining notebook, but a hand jumped into view as someone beat him to it.

Jim glanced up to find himself face-to-face with Claire, who picked up the notebook and held it out with an uncertain smile on her face. They were the only ones left in the room. He felt his stomach plummet. Numbly, he took it out of her hand.

“I’m going to kill him,” he said as he straightened. Claire huffed out a laugh as he took the notebook from her.

“Don’t put all the blame on Toby. My friends are just as guilty,” she shrugged. Pursing her lips, she regarded him with mild scrutiny. “How are you doing?”

He scrubbed the side of his face with his hand. “I’ve been better, but. Can’t complain right now, I guess.” He eyed her nervously. “You?”

“I’m not mad, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Really? I tried texting you, but . . . you didn’t respond.”

“Oh, yeah, I don’t have my phone. My mom took it away. I got super grounded after what happened. Not cause of you, no—she was mad we went past the ropes, but it was my idea anyway so I took all the credit for that one.”

Actually, that was good news. Claire being confined to her house meant fewer chances for creepy trolls to shadow her, and that meant less of a burden on his shoulders for a while. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “Uh, but tell your mom I’m thankful she talked the building manager into not pressing charges. She didn’t have to do that.”

Claire rolled her eyes, leaning against the closest desk and crossing her arms. “She also doesn’t want me hanging around you anymore. That was part of the condition for getting you off the hook. Thinks you’re too prone to ‘violent psychotic episodes.’ Her words, not mine.”

He got comfortable on a desk of his own. “Seriously? All it took was one time?”

“First impressions and all that. Not like she can really stop me. But you’re almost eighteen, right? The charges would have been wiped off your record anyway.”

“Well that is a huge relief. I’ll have to destroy public property more often while I still can.”

The smile she gave him was thin, and it didn’t meet her eyes. After a quick moment, it disappeared altogether. All that remained was concern and burning curiosity. “Are you okay?”

The question confused him. “I’m fine.”

“No, I mean . . . are you _okay?_ I’m going to be honest, Jim, I was really freaked out after the concert. One second, you’re fine, then the next you’re having some kind of breakdown. I just want to know what’s going on.”

Right. Naturally she wanted an explanation. But how was he supposed to explain something like that without sounding insane?

“God, where do I start?” Jim chuckled humorlessly. His scars itched and he scratched at them unconsciously. “I mean, ever since with . . . that night at the bridge, I haven’t been sleeping much. At all, really. And the nightmares, just . . . sometimes it’s like there’s monsters in the shadows, y’know? I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Perhaps he’d laid it on a tad thick, but by the look on her face, she _totally_ bought it. Maybe he should have tried out for the play after all. He did feel a little bad about having to lie after what he put her through—if anyone deserved to know what happened, it was Claire.

But that was another cruelty he wouldn’t dream of putting on her.

“Freshman year, I had a crazy-important exam the day of the spring play,” Claire began, eyes growing distant as she recalled the memory. “My mom was pushing me to score high so my GPA would be off to a good start. I stayed up all night studying for it, and I couldn’t even go to sleep after school because of the play. Don’t even remember performing. But what I _do_ remember is seeing people . . . kinda melting. Except not really cause I would blink and they’d be back to normal. It was terrifying.” She nudged his arm with her own. “Not sleeping can really mess with your head. Are you seeing anyone to help with that?”

“Kinda,” Jim shrugged—because Blinky was on his case about it. “It’s a process. Getting somewhere, but . . . some days are worse than others.”

She nodded, completely understanding. Then she smiled, full and bright. “Well, despite all the unfortunate things, I had a lot of fun. Probably more excitement than I’ve had at a concert in a while.”

“So, wait. You’re cool with the fact that I completely ruined the show _and_ got you grounded?”

“I got myself grounded, thank you very much. And the other thing, well . . . it’s not like we were watching the show. Definitely a day I won’t forget any time soon.”

Laughter bubbled up from his chest and Jim pressed a hand to his mouth to keep it in. The attempt was unsuccessful. “Oh, man. Yeah, uh, I definitely gave myself a horrible first impression of concerts.”

“That reminds me—I got you something.” Claire dipped down and unzipped her bag, and he leaned closer as she dug around for something. When she pulled out what she’d been looking for, he peered at it curiously, because it looked like a wad of black fabric. “Hopefully this doesn’t feel like too cruel of a joke or anything.”

She readjusted her grip and let it unravel, and Jim got an eyeful of vivid colors, three punk girls graphic style, and the flared words “Papa Skull” at the top. A dumbfounded grin split his face as it dawned on him that she’d bought him a t-shirt from the concert.

Jim took it from her, displaying it like a banner. It was crisp, brand new, and much too big for him. It was perfect.

“I absolutely love this.”

Claire bit back a smile and shrugged. “They were out of everything that wasn’t an extra-large or a small, so I figured too big is better than not big enough. You can use it as a night shirt or something.”

He nodded—because that was _exactly_ what he was going to do.

Still smiling, he folded the shirt flat and neat in his hands. “Believe it or not, I had a lot of fun too. Really. Kinda wished it could have lasted a little longer.”

They fell into a brief silence, quiet enough that all Jim could hear was his heartbeat. It’d slowed since their initial greet but still thumped rhythmically in his ears. The noise made him want to pick up the conversation again just to drown it out. Claire scooted closer, her shoulder brushing his as she pressed against his side.

And . . . there it goes again.

“We could do something else sometime. If you wanted,” she said, surprising him. Because the last thing he’d expected was for _her_ to suggest anything like that, especially after how their last excursion ended. “Remember those bonfires I told you about? Mary’s planning for one this Friday. It’s—well, it’s more of a group thing, but I think you’d like it.”

“Aren’t you grounded?”

“Yeah, but I’ve also got sneaking out down to a science. What do you say? Remember, you can always leave before dark.”

Jim pursed his lips, still uncertain despite how tempting it was. “Thing is, I’m, uh. Kind of also grounded.”

She giggled. “Cause you got arrested?”

“Ha ha, no, actually. My mom and I haven’t really discussed that yet. _This_ grounding is because of the fight with Steve. And then there’s the whole detention thing—I don’t know. I don’t think I’d be much of an addition anyway.”

“Oh, shut up. Look, I’ve got rehearsal on Friday anyway. I’ll just give you a ride when we’re both done. How’s that sound?”

The idea of being around so many people that close to sunset made him . . . nervous. If he couldn’t get away in time, or if he had more hallucinations, or if that troll showed up again—

No, _wait._ His personal worse-case scenarios were the lesser problems here, he realized. The forest was a dense, secluded place. Perfect for lurking trolls, especially at night. And if Claire was that determined to go to this bonfire . . .

He didn’t have a choice on whether he came or not.

“You know what? Yeah, I’ll come for a bit,” Jim said, a little strained. “My mom’s never home anyway. She won’t notice.”

Claire exhaled through a delighted smile, as if she’d been holding her breath for his answer. Jim found himself suddenly caught in a tight embrace as her arms wound around his shoulders and pulled him in. It was her way of saying that everything was going to be fine—something he hadn’t realized he’d needed. It was like all of the tension melted away.

When she drew back, she didn’t go very far. Jim looked at her questioningly, wondering why she’d stopped, but the fond way she gazed at him made his breath catch and he froze altogether. He wasn’t prepared when she pushed up on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was like a shock that forced him to reboot just quickly enough to stop his knees from giving out. Then it was over—just like that.

“Sorry,” Claire said as she stepped away, biting back a smile and not looking very sorry at all. “Kind of wanted to do that for a while now, actually.”

He didn’t have the mental capacity to respond while his brain was in full nuclear meltdown, so he just stared after her with glassy eyes, the folded shirt still loosely clutched in his hands, as she gave a small departing wave and threw on her backpack.

The classroom door suddenly opened and Claire jerked to a stop, startled that her way of escape was now blocked by a mildly-suspicious Mr. Strickler. “Mr. Lake. Ms. Nuñez,” the man said, an eyebrow climbing gradually higher as he glanced between them. “I believe class has already been dismissed. You should be on your way if you don’t want to be late to the next.”

Claire cleared her throat and nodded wordlessly. Mr. Strickler stepped aside to let her through, then released the door to let it fall shut on its own. He fixed Jim with a wry smile.

“Did I interrupt something?”

Jim groaned, knowing by the burning in his face that he was as red as a rose. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I believe this is my classroom.” At Jim’s irritated scowl, Mr. Strickler loosened his smile with a sigh. He idly fidgeted with the ring on his finger, twisting back and forth. “I left to make a phone call. Now I need to prepare for my next class. Were you planning on sticking around, or did you intend to be counted present for math?”

Jim rolled his eyes and carefully stuck the shirt into his bag, pushing off the table and heading for the door. Upon passing Mr. Strickler, though, he paused.

“What I said on Saturday . . .” Jim began, voice low, “I didn’t mean any of it. I was just having a pretty rotten day.”

“I know you didn’t. Some things said on both sides were products of the moment—nothing more. You’re protective of your mother, and that’s something I deeply admire. Just know I only want what’s best for both of you.”

Jim gave a tight nod, the corners of his mouth barely quirking up. Mr. Strickler smiled and patted him affectionately on the back, prompting him to resume heading for the door.

“Oh, and Jim—”

He paused, the noise of passing students filtering through the half-open door, and glanced back.

Mr. Strickler’s mouth opened, but for a few seconds he didn’t speak. He seemed to make up his mind when he asked, “Do you still have that medallion you picked up?”

Remembering the amulet’s existence always made it feel heavier in his back pocket. Jim patted it to be certain and sure enough, its iron frame was solid beneath his hand. He nodded in affirmation.

“You should be careful about taking what you find on the ground. You never know whom something might belong to, or if they’ll come looking for it once they realize it’s gone.”

That bit of advice was ominous enough to make Jim feel a little put off. With a strange frown, he nodded again to show his understanding before moving through the door to get lost in the stream of migrating students. Knowing he was pressed for time, he rushed to his locker.

“So, what’d I miss?” Toby asked, suddenly popping out of nowhere and making Jim jump.

With a sigh as he returned to fishing for his math supplies, Jim answered, “Nothing. You’re a dick for that, by the way.”

“Well it couldn’t have been a bad nothing cause you’re not dragging your feet anymore. Told ya talking would work. I mean, every bad movie plot starts with bad communication. It’s just unnecessary conflict. Literally nobody likes it.”

“Tobes, shut up for a second.” Jim shut his locker and saddled it over his shoulder. “You and I are going out Friday night.”

 _“Pfft,_ like on one of your dates? Heard those were pretty spicy.” It took approximately six seconds of Jim staring daggers before Toby finally caught on. “Oh! You mean like on a mission! Yes, _finally!_ I’ve been working on our codenames—”

“Holy shit. Would you let that go already?”

“So I was thinking you can be Tombstone, and I can be Shadow Raider.”

Jim rolled his eyes and turned to head for math class. Toby kept pace at his heels.

“Yeah, you’re right. Those aren’t very good. Well, that’s all I had. I’ll come up with more later. Do we have to wait till Friday? Why not earlier?”

“Toby, this is dangerous. You’re lucky I’m letting you do it at all. And, uh . . . I kind of have prior obligations in Trollmarket right now.”

“Oh yeah? What are those crazy trolls up to these days?”

* * *

“Are you going to make me chase after you all night?”

“Not unless you promise to go easy on me,” Jim said breathlessly after having sprinted to the other side of the room at full speed to avoid being pummeled. Draal sighed and shook his head.

As promised, Draal continued to show Jim how trolls handled themselves in combat. Well, a better word to use would be _attempted_ to show, since Jim wasn’t demonstrating much retention as he was too busy trying to avoid getting his teeth knocked loose. They were in the cavern Blinky used to build his truck—originally Draal wanted to use the Forge, but Vendel had advised against it, claiming a public arena was not the best place for a half troll to spend his time. Blinky worked to improve the safety threshold of his truck and Aaarrrgghh sat spectating nearby.

“If I choose to go easy on you, lad, you’re never going to learn,” Draal explained. “Where’s that fire you showed under the bridge?”

“Totally different stakes, man. My friend was in danger and I acted on impulse.”

“Well, until you learn to act deliberately, your friends will always be in danger even when you’re around. You as well. So come on—shoulders squared, horns down. Let’s go again.”

Jim exhaled heavily as Draal thrust a fist into the ground, readying to charge. To think that trolls were designed for combat. He didn’t feel built to serve that purpose at all. With a warning huff, Draal threw himself forward, barreling like an enraged bull.

The point was for Jim to hold his ground and meet Draal head on, but what ended up happening every time instead was him either jumping out of the way or running as fast as his troll legs could carry him in the opposite direction.

This time, he did the latter.

“Again with your climbing! Enough with the climbing!” Draal roared at the base of the cavern wall, staring up at where Jim sat perched on a small outcropping of rock, far out of reach. He may not be good at fighting, but if there was one thing he _was_ good at, it was scaling vertical surfaces in a manner of seconds.

Blinky abandoned his truck, brushing his hands together and chuckling as he drew up beside Draal. “He’s quite nimble, wouldn’t you say?” he said to the azure troll, who growled in response.

“Get your scrawny self down here, runt!”

Jim shook his head with a nervous grin. “I’m pretty comfortable up here.” His claws dug into rock as the wall shook with the force of Draal’s frustrated fist.

Blinky pursed his lips as he stared up at Jim. He turned to the other troll. “Come now, Draal. Surely there’s better ways to motivate him.”

Draal immediately whirled on Blinky. “Do you wish to teach him to run away? Is that it?”

“Only when he knows he can’t win. Discretion is the better part of valor, after all.”

With an annoyed rumble, Draal peered up at Jim and groaned. “Very well,” he grumbled with a deep and mocking bow. “I submit to your cowardice. Stay up there till morning for all I care.”

Jim watched the azure troll stiffly retreat, feeling a bit triumphant that he’d managed to discourage him enough to back off. And also delay the inevitable beatdown he’d receive as soon as he was within grabbing range. Blinky still stood at the base of the wall, looking at him with two arms on his hips. “Why don’t you come down from there, lad?”

Jim considered it for a moment before deeming it safe enough—Draal was on the other side of the room conversing with Aaarrrgghh. He hooked his claws into the little cracks and quickly shimmied down, sliding the last several feet until he landed on the floor in front of his mentor.

“You understand this is in your best interest, yes? Draal wants you to be ready for the worst, and frankly, so do I.”

“I’m no good at this, Blink,” Jim complained, exasperated.

“But you’re doing so much better than last night. Draal hasn’t managed to land a single hit this time!”

“That’s cause I keep running _away.”_ He sighed and dropped his gaze, scratching at the fur on his jaw. “Draal’s right. I’m afraid.”

“That’s good! Fear keeps you on your toes. It makes you vigilant. It keeps you safe. Do not fear being afraid! Embrace it! Just don’t let it paralyze you, or it can just as easily be a weakness as it is your greatest strength.”

“I don’t know . . . he’s so much bigger than me.”

“This fact only works to your advantage. Your little size makes you a smaller target, and your lithe frame makes you quick and agile. You already show it off with your ability to climb—now use it to exploit Draal’s heavier build. Wait for an opening, then strike.” Blinky grabbed him by the shoulders and looked him square in the eye. “One hit. That’s all I’m asking. One hit, and we’ll call it a night.”

Well, that was a pretty fair compromise. A single hit seemed manageable, if he could find a way around the impenetrable shell that was Draal’s everything. He just had to focus, and stay patient. Be afraid, but keep his wits. Easy enough.

Jim gave a small nod. “Alright,” he agreed quietly. Blinky patted him on the shoulder and lead him back to the center of the room.

Draal immediately perked up upon seeing them approach. “Oh, is the runt finally ready take his beating like a troll?”

Blinky leaned in close and whispered, “Remember: he’s bigger, but you’re faster. Just keep your eyes open.”

Aaarrrgghh glanced between the two excitedly. Draal prowled closer with his head down, an eager grin showing all his teeth. Blinky quickly backed away and took his place by Aaarrrgghh’s side—his hands were curled into nervous fists, but his face showed total confidence. He gave a reassuring smile.

Jim’s size was his advantage. That’s how he’d beaten Steve, a much bigger and stronger kid, in a fight. He just had to pretend that Draal was Steve. A really hard, really blue Steve.

When Draal charged, Jim didn’t run. But he didn’t stand his ground either. Draal was built like an armored tank, and that meant taking him head-on as he was would be a huge mistake, so he didn’t have a choice but to evade, throwing himself to the side to avoid being flattened. Shooting back to his feet, he darted forward and swiped his claws with a shout at Draal’s exposed flank.

Except, nothing on him was very exposed at all. If there weren’t horns in the way, there were jagged crystals shielding him from behind, and by the time Jim made up his mind where he wanted to target, Draal was already swinging his arm around in an arc.

The blow knocked Jim clear off his feet. He would have slid into the wall had Aaarrrgghh not been there to stop his momentum. He stared, dazed, up at the shaggy giant smiling down at him. Aaarrrgghh pushed him to his feet with an encouraging, “Almost.”

“That’s more like it!” Draal laughed from the middle of the room. He looked genuinely pleased.

Blinky brushed the dirt off Jim’s new Papa Skull shirt—oh _god,_ it was already getting filthy. “Better. You’re beginning to gauge your options, but you have to be quicker than that. Think on your feet, and don’t overcommit. You can do this. And maybe don’t give yourself away by screaming as you’re attacking.”

Jim hunched his shoulders in embarrassment, but he was starting to believe it was possible. Blinky nudged him forward and Aaarrrgghh’s encouraging “Go get him, Jim” followed him as he returned to the center. Draal waited patiently with crossed arms, a wicked smile on his face.

This time, Draal didn’t charge, choosing instead for Jim to initiate. Jim began slowly pacing, studying the azure troll up and down for any weak points, taking his time. Draal’s head swiveled with him and he wisely began circling too, never allowing a peek at his back. Never taking his eyes away. Seeing no break in the formidable wall that was Draal, Jim figured he’d just have to make his own if he wanted this to be over.

Draal didn’t move a step when Jim rushed him. He raised his prosthetic just as Jim’s arm came swinging—claws scraped harmlessly over metal and Jim grunted as he was shoved back.

“Keep your guard up!” Blinky called from the sidelines. “Remember: stay small! Tight form!”

Jim shook his head with a growl before swiping again. He missed as Draal sidestepped and threw one of his own—on reflex, Jim snapped his arms up and blocked the blow, but the force still sent him stumbling to the floor.

Draal gave a nod as he slowly prowled closer. “Good. Keeping your guard up. Your body is your best defense—you just have to figure out which parts. Every troll has his own talents.”

Jim exhaled sharply and rolled to a low crouch, remembering Blinky’s words and keeping his body low. It only served to make Draal look even bigger and it made him nervous, but it also gave him an idea. Draal lunged forward, massive arms reaching out as he looked to grab him, and Jim dropped to all fours and darted right between the troll’s legs.

Draal was too heavy to stop his momentum in time to prevent Jim from climbing onto his back and taking him by the horns, using the crystalline extrusions as footholds. Immediately, Draal roared and began spinning and bucking, trying to throw him off, but Jim dug his claws in and held on tight. Through the sound of rushing air in his ears, he could hear Aaarrrgghh laughing in amusement nearby.

Draal’s size was really showing its cons as he thrashed his arms, trying to reach back, but his proportions and oversized crown made it too easy for Jim to simply duck away. With a frustrated snort, Draal dropped to all fours and charged in a straight line, and Jim didn’t realize why until they both slammed into the side of Blinky’s truck.

The force of the impact loosened Jim’s hold enough to jerk him forward through the space between Draal’s horns, and the azure troll immediately grabbed him and flung him away. Jim hit the dirt hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs and he tumbled halfway across the room before rolling to a stop. He wheezed out a groan, feeling the consequences of that mistake in his spine.

The sound of Blinky’s outraged complaints echoed through the small cavern. “Really, Draal! You couldn’t use anything else?! A wall, perhaps?! Bestial ruffian!”

Jim sat up and gazed over at the truck—and sure enough, there was a shapely impression under Blinky’s nursing hands where Draal had rammed into it. He didn’t have much time to appreciate how his mentor mourned over the vehicle before Draal was already upon him again.

He jumped away just as two fists came crashing down, whipping up dust in a big circle. The troll barely gave him time to breathe before chasing after him again, and it was all Jim could do to avoid having his skull caved in.

This wasn’t working. What had he done the first time, back under the bridge? Toby had been in danger. He’d acted on impulse and his movements had been purely driven by instinct. How did he replicate that?

“Running again, runt?” Draal snarled.

Jim thought back to how scared he’d been. How hearing Toby scream in terror had made him feel, and knowing that he could lose his friend in an instant. The sound of Draal huffing and grunting as he swung at him again and again helped take him back to that feeling of desperate fury. Something vicious crawled up his throat and he growled, low and threatening, as he turned to face Draal. An invitation that Draal took happily.

The azure troll charged on all fours with his horns down. Jim bared his teeth and tensed, coiled like a spring, body low to the ground. Just as Draal lunged, Jim zipped forward and threw himself over the arcing fist aiming for him, kicking off Draal’s head and shooting right between his great horns.

Like before, Draal couldn’t react in time. Despite Blinky’s warning, Jim didn’t hold back the mad roar that tore from his throat as he twisted on his toes and punched as hard as he could.

Blazing ruby red ignited from the grooves in his skin. Draal turned just in time for a fist to slam straight into his nose, whipping him back the other direction and sending him staggering with an unhappy moan.

Realization hit him a few seconds later, and Jim stood frozen with his fist still raised, disbelieving. Blinky cheered and danced from his spot on the sidelines and Aaarrrgghh mashed his hands together in thundering claps. A moment later, the fiery glow faded from his skin, leaving behind the dark and dormant patterns on his arms.

The excitement caught up to him and he pumped his fist into the air with a whoop. _“Yeah!_ I did it!”

“Indeed you did, my boy!” Blinky cried triumphantly. “You landed a hit!” 

“Good hit,” Aaarrrgghh congratulated him. Jim nodded fervently as he grinned, feeling amazing and full of life and energy. He noticed the shift in Aaarrrgghh’s face too late before something hard and solid rammed into him from behind and sent him hurtling across the cavern. He slid to a stop near Blinky and coughed, stunned. The teal troll clicked his tongue and shook his head.

Draal, whom was standing where Jim had just been seconds ago, burst into such raucous laughter it had him folded in half. Jim pushed himself upright and snorted in annoyance. “How was that fair?” he asked Blinky.

“You can never expect a fight to be fair. To fight is to win. Never turn your back on an opponent,” Blinky advised sagely. He smiled. “A lesson well learned, I’d say.”

Jim was already tuning him out as he began rounding up the long jumper cable that rested on the ground next to him. With Draal occupied by his own merriment, he didn’t notice Jim winding up the cable like a lasso, and as soon as the troll was angled away, he threw it and yanked tight as the clamp wrapped around a horn.

It held fast as Jim pulled with all his might, making Draal yelp as his balance was lost and suddenly found himself rolling onto his back, the protruding crystals impaling the dirt under his weight. Draal thrashed like an upside-down turtle stuck on its shell.

Blinky was nearly in tears with his guffaws. “A lesson well learned, indeed!” he gasped, clutching at his stomach. “A brilliant play, Jim!”

Draal sighed and rolled his eyes, glaring between the three of them from where he lay on his back. “Very funny, mutt. So terribly clever.”

Jim was too encumbered from laughing to respond, but he did watch Draal make one more attempt at dislodging himself. To his curiosity, the troll curled into a tight ball.

And then an instant later he was throwing himself to the side as hundreds of pounds of crystal and stone came rolling in his direction like a cannon had gone bowling. Jim hit the ground on his belly and he felt the rush of wind as Draal passed him in a blur. Mind scrambled from shock, he quickly looked for Blinky. His mentor hadn’t budged an inch.

“Since when could he do _that?”_ Jim cried as Draal rolled noisy laps around the cavern.

Blinky shrugged. “Every troll has his talents,” he said.

“. . . can I do that?”

Draal’s laughter bounced off the walls as he uncurled and slid to a stop, one hand dragging on the ground. “Not a chance, halfling! You’re not built for it.” He flashed a wicked smile. “You’d best go back to running.”

Sensing the impending danger like a cold cloth on the back of his neck, Jim scrambled to his feet and bounded for the door, his heart leaping into his throat as the rhythmic rumbling of Draal’s rolling quickly closed the distance.

He heard Blinky shout something just as he sprinted into the alley, clawing at the ground for purchase and changing direction just as Draal came bursting out. The troll’s momentum carried him into the wall and he rolled up the incline before curving back down, following Jim with a precision that seemed impossible for something that appeared so blind.

Jim tried to lose him in Trollmarket. He weaved and dipped and dodged between the market-goers, hopping over obstacles and taking the tightest passageways. But whatever was compelling Draal made him unshakeable, and he rolled and ran and shoved his way through trolls in every attempt to catch up, that devilish smile showing every pointed tooth.

A hand suddenly tripped Jim up and he dropped to all fours to stop himself from slipping. Draal was right behind him and he darted under the bigger trolls before bounding up a stack of crates and leaping onto a wooden overhang. At least he was safe on the high ground, since Draal was too bulky to effectively climb.

He peered down at the path through the passing trolls, looking for his azure friend. Draal was nowhere in sight and Jim frowned in confusion. An instant later, Draal came rolling up the wall and uncurled to land on the overhang, making it rock and creak with his weight. His eyes flashed and he smirked.

Jim took off in the opposite direction, leaping from shop to shop and staying off the ground to slow Draal. He tried to climb higher but ended up disturbing a pack of goblins that sent him scurrying back down. The delay cost him and Draal pounced.

Suddenly, Trollmarket was spinning in a dizzying display of streaking lights. Jim felt the shuddering impact every time Draal hit the ground as he bounced through the street, earning plenty of protests from passing trolls. Then he shot open and Jim came spilling out onto the stone path, tumbling to a stop. Draal groaned where he lay on his belly, shaking his head, and behind him a Gumm-Gumm soldier shook its fist angrily at the azure troll, spitting in Trollish. It had its spear held out like a tripwire.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Draal muttered as he crawled to his feet. “I hear ya. No need to use such language in front of the whelp—”

Draal yelped as Jim suddenly leapt at him with a battle cry, knocking him backwards and sending them both stumbling down a flight of stairs into the main part of the market. The Heartstone was on dazzling display ahead, but Jim was too busy attempting to put Draal in a headlock to pay it much attention. Draal swore and pulled him into one instead, crushing him against his body with a triumphant laugh.

And then he froze, his entire body stilling like a statue. All chatter ceased around them. Jim glanced up at Draal and followed his gaze, and he felt like his entire soul left his body.

Staring back at him, with eyes that burned like the sun, was a burly troll with skin as black as the night sky, standing just feet away. His mind immediately jumped back to the bridge—where he remembered those murderous eyes.

“What’s the meaning of this interruption?” an olive-green troll with four arms and a striking resemblance to Blinky demanded. His eyes were pale, unfocused, and glassy. Unseeing. He had a single hand pressed to the back of the black troll for guidance. Behind him, a green troll—gaunt and spindly and cloaked in leather—eyed them in annoyance.

“Just a pair of fools frolicking through the market,” the black troll muttered, his voice as cold as frozen rain. It was exactly as Jim remembered it. A violent shiver crawled down his spine.

Draal quickly released Jim and dropped to one knee, bowing his head and pressing his stone fist to his chest. “Chief Advisor Dictatious,” he said solemnly, all previous traces of humor gone. The olive-green troll hummed. “And Prince Bular. A pleasure to see you in the market, and an honor to be in your presence.”

_“They will not follow you, Bular.”_

_“Then they will join you in death.”_

The Prince of Trollmarket killed Kanjigar. The king’s son killed Draal’s father.

Draal had no idea he was speaking to his father’s murderer.

Jim didn’t react when Draal suddenly nudged him. He was paralyzed from terror and sickening realization as he stared at the black troll _—Bular—_ unable to look away despite the fear that plagued him. Skulls hung from Bular’s belt. Two giant blades were strapped at his back. He narrowed his eyes as he regarded Jim with annoyance.

Bular didn’t recognize him like this. He had no idea what he’d done to him.

Draal swatted at his arm and Jim finally regained enough sense to glance over. The azure troll pointed harshly at the ground and Jim realized he was being disrespectful in the presence of royalty and he quickly mirrored Draal, angling his head down until his eyes saw nothing but rock.

Disrespectful to a monstrous, vile, murderous, lying, royal mother _fucker—_

Footsteps quickly approached from behind and Blinky’s voice instantly filled the air. “My, there you two are! We were getting worried!”

Jim started when hands were suddenly pulling him to his feet. Aaarrrgghh stood close, one arm between him and the important trolls, while Blinky brushed him off and ever-so-subtly pushed him out of the line of attention, nervously chuckling all the while. “Always running off. Younglings, wouldn’t you say?”

The olive-green troll—Dictatious, he thought—scoffed. “So. _This_ is the orphaned welp Vendel shoved into your care. What a delight. Can’t say I’m surprised you’re in possession of yet another defective thing you can’t control.”

Blinky growled under his breath. “So there’s a bit of a learning curve! He’s getting along fine, thank you very much.”

“Yes, I can see how well your tutelage is paying off.”

Jim glanced between the two, feeling like something wasn’t quite clicking. “Blinky, who is that?” he whispered.

“My older brother,” Blinky mumbled lowly through clenched teeth. “And chief advisor to the king.”

 _Oh._ Well, there was definitely a family resemblance. They shared the same number of eyes and arms, and they were both of similar builds. Dictatious, unlike Blinky, had graying hair, and his horns stood taller. Then there was the obvious trait of what was clearly blindness. Jim wondered how that’d happened.

“As much as I’d love to stay and catch up, I simply have better things to do,” Dictatious sneered. “Enjoy your little beast. I’m sure he’ll keep you plenty busy. Perhaps consider keeping him on a leash?”

“This one as well,” Bular growled, pointing his chin at Draal, whom was still on one knee. “Show some restraint, lest you end up like your foolish father.”

Jim could practically hear Draal grinding his teeth, but the azure troll didn’t move.

Bular snorted before briefly regarding Aaarrrgghh. “Aarghaumont,” he nodded. Aaarrrgghh rumbled and returned it respectfully. Then the black beast turned, the lot of them already forgotten as he continued on his way up the path. Dictatious followed closely, a hand on the brute’s belt. The trolls of Trollmarket parted to make way for their prince.

The thin green troll looked Jim up and down with curious eyes as he passed. They lingered a little longer on the front of his new shirt before tearing away to focus ahead. Then he was gone just as quickly.

 _“Bastard,”_ Draal muttered darkly under his breath. “I’ve always _hated_ that arrogant pile of filth. Acts so mighty just because his daddy’s the king. I’d kill for the chance to take him in the Forge.”

Blinky exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath through the entire exchange. “Well. That was certainly a scenario that could have been avoided, but it also could have been worse overall. We’ll consider this a small victory.”

“Uh oh,” Aaarrrgghh warned.

They all turned to see Vendel marching towards them with a terrifying urgency. His aged and pale face was pinched with rage.

“Uh oh, indeed,” Blinky muttered anxiously.

Vendel didn’t say a word until he’d violently ushered the four of them away from the main street, prodding any dawdling with the tip of his staff for motivation. When he’d successfully corralled them into isolation, he snapped, “What sort of insanity are you encouraging, Blinkous?!”

“Vendel, it was just an accident—”

Blinky yelped in pain when the staff suddenly came down hard on his head. “I tell you to ensure the boy keeps a low profile, and what do I see? Draal parading him through the streets in front of Bular the Vicious!”

Draal sagged and averted his eyes, a hand scrubbing at his neck. “Apologies, Elder. We were training together and things got out of hand. It’s my fault. I promise it won’t happen again.”

“That’s _right_ it won’t happen again,” Vendel spat viciously. “Because if he’s ever discovered, don’t expect me to throw my life away for your foolishness. This game we play is dangerous. He’s _your_ responsibility, and if it comes to it, your _heads_ as well. That goes for you too, boy. Do you understand what’s at stake here?”

Jim didn’t answer. He wasn’t even listening. His eyes were distant as he stared off into space, his mind many weeks in the past. All he could think about was that night: Bular killing Kanjigar; chasing him through the streets; biting him and leaving him to bleed in the rain.

Kanjigar, streets, bite. Kanjigar, streets, bite. And then every horrible thing that’d happened since.

_Kill Gunmar._

Jim blinked, jerking back to the present. The amulet was warm in his back pocket.

“Jim?”

He turned and found four trolls staring at him, ranging from concerned to annoyed—with the second one being all Vendel. Blinky gestured to him, waiting for a response, and Jim realized they’d been trying to get his attention. “What?”

Vendel sighed. Blinky stepped forward—two hands fell on his shoulders, the other two slid down his arms. “You’re shaking. Is something wrong?”

Jim hadn’t realized. Looking down, he saw that it was true. His hands trembled. His heart raced in his chest. His throat felt terribly dry. “Vendel,” he began, voice hoarse.

He glanced up at the old troll, who inclined his head as he waited.

“I know who killed Kanjigar.”

* * *

The early morning hours were always the quietest.

Without a moon in the sky, the night was a veil of thick darkness over the sleeping town of Arcadia. The temperature was cool. Not a breath of wind hung in the air. All that could be heard were the insects in the trees surrounding the town. It’d always been Strickler’s favorite time.

The museum rose high, reaching for the stars—it was the tallest structure in Arcadia, and it loomed like an inky giant against a canvas of black. A silent sentinel of the night watching over the slumbering residents. How appropriate.

Strickler strolled leisurely towards the form of his car, which was shadowed in the dark like everything else. The parking lot was barren save for the single small vehicle, and his footsteps were a pleasant tapping rhythm over the asphalt. In one fluid motion, he’d pulled out his keys. His thumb snapped down on the fob and the headlights flickered as the car unlocked.

For an instant, a hulking form was illuminated in the grass. Strickler slowed and rolled his eyes with a sigh. He opened the driver’s door. “You shouldn’t be above ground,” he said, biting into every word.

The grating thumps of heavy footsteps drew near. Burning eyes drifted closer. It was moments like these that Strickler wished his flesh form didn’t deteriorate his eyes so much. It left him blind in the dark. As helpless as any human.

And yet, he wouldn’t trade them for the world.

“You know I loathe Trollmarket,” Bular growled lowly. “It’s a den of cowards.”

Strickler exhaled patiently and leaned on the door frame. “You insult a kingdom you’re destined to inherit.”

“Kingdom? Is that what you call that hole? No.” The Gumm-Gumm prince inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh air of the surface. “The kingdom I inherit will be _this.”_

He really didn’t have any desire to do this tonight. “Were you following me?” he asked, bored.

“Don’t flatter yourself, impure. I’d never look to sour my breathing space by seeking you out. Not unless Father commands it.”

Of course. And no doubt it would be unpleasant. “Oh, very well. What would Gunmar have of me?”

“He wishes to use the staff again.”

Those words aged him like nothing else could. “What _for?_ The signs are always the same. It hasn’t shown anything different in nearly two decades. How could he possibly believe this time would be any different?”

“It’s not your place to question my father’s reasons,” Bular warned. Strickler exhaled in resignation before taking a mental step backwards.

“What does that have to do with me?”

“It doesn’t. But you know how taxing it is on my father to use the staff. He desires meat after the ritual is concluded.”

Strickler’s jaw slackened. “You’re joking. You have countless troops at your disposable for such a mindless task. I’m commanding the most ancient espionage cell on this planet and your father expects me to be his delivery boy?”

“You live to serve my father. This is how you will serve him. Do you reject?”

That was a challenge, and one that would not end well if Strickler were to take it. Feeling more exhausted by the minute, Strickler nodded, knowing there was no point in fighting.

Bular inclined his head, satisfied. He turned and walked away—never one to spare more words than necessary when speaking to a changeling. The darkness swallowed his obsidian skin, and the heavy weight of his presence vanished with him. Strickler once again found himself alone in an empty parking lot.

He stared at the ring on his finger thoughtfully, twisting it slowly from side to side. No matter how many centuries passed, its golden gleam never faded. Never dulled. Never less powerful. Nearly as ancient as he himself.

What a ridiculous assignment. One that was well beneath him, and not one he planned on carrying out himself. As he studied the piece of jewelry, another presence drew up behind him—not nearly as heavy, but no less oppressive. Dark and wicked and radiating magic. Waiting for his command.

“I have a task for you,” Strickler declared.

The troll at his back growled—but as he had for centuries, he would obey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh would you look at that three page breaks in one chapter. my consistency D:
> 
> till next week!


	16. Trolls Don't Bleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim has a pretty okay day. His night--not so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahaha so about that election week
> 
> i didn't expect to skip a week but my brain was so fried during the election i simply couldn't focus enough to write or do much of anything actually. literally the least productive week of my life. i don't think i was even that stressed during my undergrad. ANYWAY i got a long one to make it up to you guys (hopefully lol) but unfortunately you're going to have to grind through approximately 10k words of my self-indulgent bullshit before you get to the exciting parts so have fun with that
> 
> tw for underage drinking

Friday came way too quickly.

The way Claire had described it made the gathering sound like a fun something to look forward to, but all Jim could think about was the potential for disaster. He absolutely _dreaded_ this little party. After all, people got lost in the woods all the time. On rare occasion, some were known to go missing indefinitely. Jim now had definite knowledge that trolls were most likely responsible for mysterious disappearances.

And as it was, some freaky magic troll happened to be on the loose right now.

He was not getting a break tonight.

“Hey. You almost done?”

Jim glanced up to see Claire walking over to his place in the back of the auditorium. The broom in his hands stilled as he momentarily forgot his task to throw her a crooked smile. “Yeah, yeah. Just finishing up here. I’ll be good by the time you guys wrap up.”

“Mr. Lake! No talking!” Ms. Janeth snapped at him from the stage. He winced and immediately resumed sweeping the floor. Claire froze before reconsidering her intentions and chose to walk back the way she came, offering him an apologetic smile as she retreated.

“Meet you out front after rehearsal,” she whisper-shouted at him. He shot her a discreet thumbs up.

Neither one of them had brought up what happened on Monday. Not even Claire was brave enough to broach the topic. Despite the deliberate avoidance, their dynamic had shifted just a little deeper, and now some wordless understanding hung between them. She held his hand a lot—in the halls, in class, at lunch, just _publicly_ —something he was more than happy to play along with. Having that knowledge of someone wanting to be so close to him despite all the nastiness of the past several weeks was enough to put a spring in his step. And, naturally, Toby was incredibly obnoxious about it.

Careful not to stop what he was doing, lest he invite the wrath of his prison warden again, Jim located Toby across the room. Now that Toby had some insight into the troll world, he was no longer scared out of his mind about crossing the bridge—but he was still a little weary about being alone at night so he often left early to make it home before dark. Something Jim could somewhat relate to. He was back to building props under Eli’s command, having moved on to environmental pieces.

Jim stared at him until he glanced up. Waiting until Ms. Janeth’s back was turned, Jim pointed at Toby, then himself, then reached into his pocket to point at the twelve-o-clock position on his amulet. He mouthed, _sunset._

Toby’s brow rose in understanding and he quickly nodded. pressing his lips into a tight line to stop himself from smiling. Steve, whom had also returned to resume his role at rehearsals, demanded to know what he was smiling at.

This was not going to be fun, Jim thought sourly to himself. How Toby looked forward to it after having a terrifying first impression of trolls, he had no idea. He had half a mind to tell him to stay home, but the problem was . . . he kind of _needed_ Toby there to pull it off.

The plan was simple: stick around with Claire until sunset, then leave. Since Toby had obligations at home after rehearsal, they’d meet up after dark. Jim’s job was to patrol the surrounding woods and keep an eye out for anything sinister. Toby would be his eyes at the bonfire in his absence, in case something slipped past his awareness. And the other boy had no reservations about attending a party for him.

Finally, Jim completed his rounds and requested to leave. Ms. Janeth granted it and he was out the door without another minute wasted. Last-minute script recitals were still going so he took the opportunity to do an inventory check while he was alone outside. He had everything he needed in his bag: his phone, his wallet, the amulet, his troll clothes, a walkie-talking for communicating with Toby, and a pair of old shoes he’d found at home for when he got hungry.

. . . he really needed to find better things to eat.

The auditorium door burst open and Toby stepped out into the sun, the light gleaming off his braces as he grinned. He slapped on a pair of shades and started towards the bike racks. “See you later, Blue Crusader,” he said as he passed.

Jim rolled his eyes with a groan. Toby had been mulling over codenames all week and somehow none managed to suck less than the previous. But, in true Toby fashion, he just wouldn’t give up.

Only a minute or so went by before Claire exited the theatre, all ready to go. The day was a bit colder so she’d forgone her usual cropped jacket, instead wearing a baggy hoodie with some Shakespearian quote on the front: “Brevity is the soul of wit.”

She smiled at him and he returned it awkwardly. Taking his hand—he was _really_ liking this new change—she walked him across the parking lot to her car. The sounds of the rest of the cast and prop crew spilling out of the doors behind them faded with distance.

“Need anything from home first?” Claire asked him once they were seated.

He shook his head and patted his bag. “Got everything I need.”

“I guess you don’t really need to prepare if you’re just staying for a couple hours.”

 _Right._ A couple hours. If only. Jim bit his lip and turned away to look out the window, knowing his face would betray his troubled thoughts.

The drive to the edge of town was in comfortable silence. Jim leaned back against the head rest, eyes closed, remembering he’d promised Blinky to sleep again as soon as he could. That night would obviously not work—he wouldn’t even be able to visit Trollmarket, let alone take a nap. Maybe Saturday.

His arm hung loosely over the center console, hand in her lap and covered by one of her own. A thumb brushed lightly over his knuckles and it calmed his nerves just a little. “You wanna get lunch tomorrow?” he asked suddenly. Claire turned and regarded him with mild surprise.

“Well, _that_ was out of nowhere.”

“I was just thinking. You know—food, middle of the day, chill environment, and a break from stressing over midterms. Supposed to be nice out tomorrow.”

She hummed to herself, as if considering his plan. The smirk on her face told him her mind was already made up. “Oh, I guess I could do that.”

“Great. I’m paying. _Ah—!”_ He stopped her with a raised finger before she could get a word out. “You didn’t let me pay last time when I offered. Consider this me buying my way around the law since I’m technically off limits according to your mom.”

That pulled a pretty big grin out of her. Finally, she relented. “Alright, whatever, but I get the next one. Did you have a place in mind?”

Jim shrugged. “How about the café again? I thought it was pretty good.” She agreed and they fell back into silence. The hum of the road took them the rest of the way to their destination.

The great thing about the wilderness was how it was impossible to reach any of the infamous teen hangout spots by car. They were deep enough in the woods to be only accessible by foot, and far enough out for it to be considered a decent trek—which was kind of the point, since the bored adolescents of Arcadia weren’t escaping the town to behave as angels. Isolation meant no adult intervention.

Jim and Claire walked hand-in-hand through the trees, seemingly wandering to an outside perspective, but both knew exactly where they were. Jim had memorized the woods from his nights out exploring as a troll and no doubt Claire knew the path to the bonfire place by heart.

“You planning on staying all night?” he asked her, careful to keep his voice as neutral as possible. “It’s supposed to be pretty cold later.”

“That’s what the fire is for,” Claire said with a wry smile. “I don’t know if you’ve ever been around a bonfire, but when they get big, they get _hot._ We’ve done them in the middle of winter before, all through the night. You don’t get cold around a bonfire.”

Jim nodded stiffly. “Fair enough.”

“But no, probably not. I know I really talked up how well I can sneak around my parents, but you know. Smarter to play it safe. I’ll probably end up leaving around midnight.”

Well, at least he had that to look forward to.

The leaves, yellow and orange and brown from the autumn season, crunched beneath their feet. The wind whispered overhead, jostling the highest branches. The sun poked through the canopy in shafts of light, dotting the ground. It wasn’t anywhere near cold enough for their breath to show, but Jim could still feel the chill seep through his jacket. He couldn’t stop himself from throwing the occasional sidelong glance through the trees, scanning the shadows with vigilant eyes. Claire moved closer and looped her arm through his elbow, clutching him tighter. Probably for warmth, but regardless he felt much happier with her pressed safely to his side.

Taking in their surroundings, Jim realized . . . he didn’t recognize this part of the forest. He’d spent countless nights in the wilderness wandering all over, familiarizing himself with every landmark both by sight and smell. But for some reason, this particular section eluded him, as if he’d never seen it in the first place.

“You’re so tense. Feeling okay?”

Her voice broke him away from his thoughts as he turned to offer a tight smile. “I’m fine.”

The look on her face told him she knew better at this point. “Worried about being around people again?”

“No, no, it’s, uh—well.” He shrugged. “A little, I guess.”

“You don’t have to be nervous. This is way mellower than a concert. Not loud _or_ crowded. Plenty of space if you need it.”

If only that was all he had to worry about.

Eventually, voices carried through the trees—plenty of laughs and shouts and jeers, all rowdy, all lively. They stepped into a small clearing and were greeted with the sight of a small gathering. A handful of their classmates were scattered about, engaged in playful banter, some off to the side in the shade but most circling the modest fire pit in the middle.

Mary, whom had left rehearsals much earlier to help with setting up, sat crouched in the dirt, fiddling with her phone and a lengthy Bluetooth portable speaker while looking very frustrated. At the sound of their footsteps, she glanced up and her face smoothed into one of delight. _“There’s_ my Claire-Bear! Oh, and you brought Lake with you. Good—I need more responsible people managing the idiots.” Mary squinted at Jim. “The word ‘bear’ isn’t a trigger for you, is it?”

Claire rolled her eyes but Jim just smiled. “Is Darci not here yet?” she asked.

“No. I was hoping she was with you. She’s the one who actually knows how to work this stupid thing.” Mary abandoned the speaker and stood, brushing dust from her jeans. “Well, whatever. We’re all just hanging out until everyone else shows up, anyway.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Jim began, his gaze on the center of the clearing, “but isn’t it a little dangerous to throw a bonfire in the middle of a forest?”

“What are you, a cop?”

“Okay, well, aren’t they at least supposed to be bigger?”

“We usually wait till it gets dark before building up the fire,” Claire answered. “Firewood’s kind of a pain to cut, so we try to save it till later. I can help with that, Mare.”

The girls fell into their own determined exchange as they went to work pairing the speaker, leaving Jim to stand awkwardly to the side. With nothing to do but wait, his eyes returned to the trees, and his restlessness guided him closer to the boundaries of the clearing.

“Yo, Lake. You want one?”

Jim paused in his wanderings of the perimeter, having not noticed he had neared Seamus and Logan until he’d nearly passed them. Seamus was sitting on a big cooler and Logan was perched on a boulder next to him, both with opened cans of beer in their hands. Logan held up an unopened one in offering, flecks of ice from the cooler still clinging to the aluminum.

With a hand raised in polite refusal, Jim declined. “I’m good.”

“Fine by me,” Seamus said with somewhat of a sneer, looking very much like a dragon guarding its loot. “Like you even deserve any after you blew it for the rest of us at the concert.”

Jim took a deep breath, careful to keep his patience. He’d never been a fan of Seamus—not a lot of people were. He was an entitled kid who’d often been seen in the company of Steve during the height of his bullying years. Now he mostly spent his days at school parading around his scholarships and university acceptance letters. “I’m sorry about that.”

“I’m not. That was hilarious,” Logan said brightly. “If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”

“Do you bring anything else to drink to these?”

“Oh, yeah! Darci usually brings water and Steve always brings soda, but if you’re a normal person and don’t like Diet Mountain Dew then you should just stick to water.”

Thanking him for the heads up (though he didn’t really have the stomach to partake in any refreshments), Jim moved away. He passed some other students but they ignored him, thankfully—and he was more interested in gazing through the trees than acknowledging what the others were doing, anyway.

Maybe he was being too paranoid. It was still daytime, and there was plenty of sun poking through the trees. The rational part of his brain told him to relax, they were safe for now, but the troll part that’d moved in over the past several weeks told him to keep his guard up. Don’t turn his back on the enemy.

He only wished he knew who his enemy was. As far as he was concerned, he was looking for a ghost.

With a curious frown, Jim stared at the tree in front of him. It was huge—bigger than most of the other trees around it, and stretched high above the canopy of leaves. But the part that really stood out was all the pairs of initials carved into the trunk, some with hearts.

Leaves crunched behind him as someone approached. He snuck a glance over his shoulder to find Shannon and her girlfriend walking hand-in-hand up to where he stood. He pointed at the tree and said, “Should I even ask?”

“Have you never been here?” Shannon asked as they drew up beside him. He shook his head. “It’s the kissing tree. The point is if you kiss someone here, you carve both of your initials into the bark. The higher up the carving, the higher up the kiss happened.”

“Wow, really? I can see Mary’s initials like, six times just from here.”

Both girls broke into amused giggles. Clearing her throat, Shannon continued, “It’s also a competition with some superstition. Some couples try to go up as high as they can before leaving their mark. Supposedly, the higher you go, the stronger the love. Plus, bragging rights.”

Jim craned his neck, peering up the trunk at all the dwindling carvings that rose with it until they disappeared into the leaves, too high for him to see. _That’s_ pretty high. “Sounds super corny. Did you guys do it?”

Shannon pressed a hand to her mouth and breathed out a laugh, her face immediately reddening. Her girlfriend—Jim didn’t know her; she didn’t go to their school—grinned and pointed some fifteen feet off the ground. It was too high for Jim to read any letters but he believed it. “I wanted to go farther, but she didn’t let me.”

“It was really high up! What if we fell?” Shannon whined.

“I would have caught you. Duh. Half of it’s about the trust.”

The girls’ voices faded as they retreated back to the bonfire just beyond the thin line of trees. Jim still stared along the tree’s length, trying to gauge its height. He could probably scale it pretty easily. Hell, as a troll he’d make it to the top in no time at all.

Though he was tempted to try climbing the tree on his own, another voice stopped him before he could go through with that impulse. “Hey, there you are! Claire’s wondering where you wandered off to.” It was Darci, whom must have just arrived, if her hard breathing was any indication. She grabbed him by the arm before he could get a word out and dragged him back to the bonfire. “Oh, Claire probably told you already but Mary’s going to make you do a thing.”

“Wait—what? What thing?” Jim wondered as she pulled him back into the clearing. More people were gathering, and he recognized almost all of them as the stage crew from the play. “I didn’t—Claire didn’t tell me—”

“Oh, there you are,” Claire said, suddenly next to him. “Yeah, I forgot to tell you, but Mary does this initiation bit with newcomers, and—”

Loud and abrupt whooping pulled everyone’s attention to the tree line, where Steve burst from with a flourish. In one hand was a twenty-four-pack box of Diet Mountain Dew, and in the other, hanging at his side, was—

Oh, god.

“The Palchuk has arrived! You kids can hold the applause,” Steve announced proudly.

“Way ahead of you, dude,” Darci muttered, crossing her arms.

The cans rattled as Steve dropped the box of soda unceremoniously on the ground. With a maniacal cackle, he hoisted up the gas-powered chainsaw to brandish in both hands. “By the way, I _borrowed_ Coach’s chainsaw for the night, so firewood should not be a problem.”

He grabbed the cord and yanked it with a grunt, earning a pathetic sputter from the tool’s motor. Mary groaned. “Can somebody _please_ take that away from him before he kills someone?” Before Steve could attempt another go at revving the chainsaw to life, Logan ran over and wrestled it away from his overly-eager hands. “Okay! Great. By the way, Logan, you’re on firewood duty tonight.”

“What? I was on firewood duty last time,” he complained.

“No, you weren’t. Shannon was. And no offense, Shannon, but—” she said, turning to Shannon, who was seated on a log by the fire with her girlfriend, “—never again.”

“Honestly, I agree with you,” Shannon said, looking somewhat uncomfortable.

“Right, so. Logan.”

He rolled his eyes. “Can I at least use Steve’s chainsaw?”

“Oh my god,” Mary swore under her breath. “Darci, do you mind watching him when he’s cutting firewood?”

“Only if I get a turn.”

“Lake!” Steve shouted. Jim met his wild gaze and recoiled. The grin on Steve’s face told him that he was already over the chainsaw confiscation. “You. Me. Drinking contest. Right now.”

Jim pursed his lips. “I’m not doing that.”

“What? Are you crazy?” Seamus sputtered from his spot on the cooler. “It’s beer, you dunce. Not shots. And I brought enough to barely cover everyone here as it is.”

“Nobody’s getting drunk, Steve,” Mary snapped. “All it takes is _one_ trip into the fire—”

“Told you it’d be fun,” Claire whispered to Jim as the three of them argued. He had to admit, it _was_ pretty amusing to watch, especially when Steve started pouting now that two of his insane plans were vetoed by the hostess powerhouse that was Mary Wang. No doubt she’ll make a great sorority leader someday.

“—so only two per person, _Steve.”_ Mary suddenly turned to Jim and smiled brightly. “Except for Jim, cause it’s his first time. He can have more if he wants.”

Jim frowned at her. “Um—”

_“What?!”_

“Yeah, Wang, what the hell?” Seamus said angrily. “I didn’t bring it all for Lake.”

“Come on! What about seniority?” Steve pointed accusingly at Claire, “You’re pulling strings for him, aren’t you?”

Claire rolled her eyes and sighed. “I don’t tell Mary how to run her parties, Steve.”

“I’m willing to give up one of mine if Jim wants to have fun,” Mary said as she threw an arm around his shoulders and abruptly dragged him down to her height. “First impressions and all that.”

“Yeah, I’ll share one of mine too,” Darci agreed.

Okay, now it was definitely starting to feel like some kind of ploy between Claire’s friends. Thankfully, most of the people lost interest after Mary stopped yelling and had returned to their own conversations, but Jim still felt very much like a deer in headlights with the two girls grinning at him expectantly. He eyed Claire for help but she didn’t look like she had the answer either.

“You know, I, uh. Really didn’t intend to stay that long,” Jim said to Mary. “I’ve just got things to do . . . at home.”

“Oh, come on. Stay for a couple rounds, at least,” Darci urged him.

“And I really wasn’t planning on drinking anything so you don’t have to—”

“Not even one?” Mary asked, confused. “Then what are we supposed to do with the extras?”

“. . . give them to Steve?”

Steve suddenly appeared in front of him. “I thought this was the year of Fun Jim. Come on, Lake, where’s the fun part?”

“W—okay, wait. I thought _you_ wanted them?”

“I do! But now I think I want to see Drunk Jim even more.”

“I just said nobody’s getting drunk!” Mary barked, making Steve start and jump away. “But at least have one. Maybe we’ll play a game to see who gets the extra.”

There were too many people talking. Too many voices directed at him. It was starting to grate on his already-worn nerves.

“Oh my god, Seamus. Can you never bring anything else?” Darci complained as she grabbed a can from the cooler.

“That’s the brand my dad buys. Bring your own if you don’t like it.”

 _“Nobody_ likes it,” Mary whispered to Jim.

He’d figured it was liquid ambrosia for how big of a deal they were making the whole thing out to be. “Then why drink it?”

“Cause it’s free booze. Man, you really _are_ new to these things, aren’t you?”

“Here ya go,” Darci beamed while shoving something freezing and solid into his hands. Jim gazed down at the golden can, the aluminum uncomfortably cold against his skin in the chilly fall air. Now that he was actually holding one, he wasn’t really sure what to do anymore.

He felt a hand press to the small of his back. “Come on, guys. If he doesn’t want to drink, you can’t make him,” Claire said, stepping closer to his side.

“We’re not _making_ him,” Darci argued defensively.

“Yeah. And I still haven’t heard a ‘no,’” Mary added.

“Okay, just—everyone _shut up_ for a sec,” Jim snapped, taking a step back so he could breathe. Both girls immediately clicked their mouths shut, staring at him in surprise. The sudden silence that swept the area made his pounding heart painfully loud in his ears. He hadn’t known what to expect from a bonfire, but it certainly hadn’t been the focus being all on _him._ He was way too high-strung for this much attention at the moment.

Claire was already back at his side, a hand on his arm. Almost instantly, he felt calmer, and it must have shown on his face because he saw relief breeze over hers. “You don’t have to,” she reminded him softly.

Jim looked down at the can again. He’d never had beer, nor any real desire to try it. His mother only kept wine in the house and she’d allowed him a taste before when he was sixteen, but it’d been so bitter he’d barely finished the glass before deciding that it simply wasn’t for him. Maybe that would change when he was older, but the memory was still very fresh in his mind and he wasn’t confident about his chances with beer either.

Not to mention he was determined to stay vigilant.

He met Claire’s gaze. “Just one?”

She glanced at the can and shrugged. “I’ll do it if you do it.”

But oh _god_ did he want a chance to feel normal again.

“Alright. Why not?”

Mary and Darci high-fived. “Let’s finish setting up so we can get this bitch rolling for real!” Mary announced to the group, which earned her some cheers ranging in enthusiasm. Clearly, not a lot of people were excited about helping out, but the girls made a fierce duo and quickly whipped the lazier ones into shape.

Finally, Jim was back to being ignored, and he was more than happy remaining a spectator on the sidelines. Claire was still with him, and he gestured her way with the can. “Do _you_ drink this stuff?”

She eyed it with visible disgust. “That? Not if I can help it. It’s pretty horrible.”

His fingernail clicked rhythmically against the top as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. Finally, he popped the tab and it snapped open with a hiss. Almost immediately the smell hit him and it was like a punch to the nose, making him angle the can away on reflex. “Well, wish me luck,” he said before holding his breath and taking a decent swig.

Claire was right—it was _horrible._ He had to stop himself from spitting it out right then and there, feeling the bite of carbonation in his mouth before finally mustering up the will to swallow. “Oh my god,” Jim coughed, pressing a hand to his mouth as he gagged, an unpleasant bitterness on his tongue. “And people drink this for fun.”

“Only cause it works as intended. Maybe it’ll help you loosen up.”

He shuddered, _not_ looking forward to more of it. “Here, your turn,” Jim said roughly as he handed her the can. Thankfully, the one thing his troll side _hadn’t_ heightened was his sense of taste, otherwise he’d likely be hurling into the dirt by now.

She didn’t look very excited, but she did so without complaint. Just as he had, she took a big gulp and forced it down a lot quicker, saving herself some pain. Her brow tightened unhappily and he couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re so lucky I like you,” she muttered as she forced it back into his hands, but her eyes were light with good humor.

They were simple, playful words, but felt so sweet all the same. Without really thinking, he stepped closer and wrapped her hand up in his, feeling the warmth of her breath on his face. She seemed perfectly delighted by his choice and smiled up at him, fingers tightening.

When she’d kissed him on Monday, he’d been totally blindsided. Now he only wondered what it’d take to get her to do it again.

Claire’s eyes flicked over his shoulder. “That reminds me. Mary’s going to make you tell a story.”

Jim blinked. “What?” He jumped when Mary’s shrill voice suddenly rang from right behind him.

“All newbies have to secure their right to stay by telling a story,” Mary said, hands on hips and grinning wickedly at him. “It’s tradition. And it’s good practice cause usually we pass the time by taking turns telling scary stories after dark.”

“I’m not . . . staying after dark.”

“So? You can tell it now. Everyone’s here.”

He looked around as some of the nearby kids encouraged him. There weren’t a lot of people—maybe around thirteen or so, and he knew almost all of them at least passively from school—but having all eyes his way never seemed to bode well. Everyone moved to surround the fire in anticipation for his entry fee.

Jim exhaled deeply before taking another sip of the beer. The sharp taste helped ground him. Claire patted him on the shoulder, “That’s the spirit.”

The only thing that plagued his mind as he took his seat was: he didn’t know _how_ to tell stories. That was more Toby’s bag. He wasn’t creative or terribly interesting. His life wasn’t exciting—well, it wasn’t exciting up to a certain, and very recent, point.

“Alright, Lake. Let’s hear it,” Mary prompted him from across the firepit, sitting above everyone else on a big rock.

“Yeah, um. I don’t really know any scary stories, Mary.”

“It doesn’t have to be scary,” Darci said. “You can tell us whatever you want.”

“How about what happened at the concert?” another girl offered.

“Oh, yeah! I want to hear that!” Logan seconded excitedly.

“Uh,” Jim stammered uncertainly, remembering _way_ too many unpleasant things from that day—mostly a ghost troll among the nauseating hallucinations. Definitely not things he was willing to share.

But his audience was pretty adamant on hearing about it. “What made you want to do it?” “Did you plan everything or was it like, on impulse?” “Were you actually arrested after?” “Can you do that again at the next pep rally?”

He felt Claire’s hand creep closer until it was pressed against his thigh, reminding him she was there if he needed an out. But instead of looking to her for help again, he took another drink and steeled himself. “I thought the show was . . . boring.”

Some people scoffed while others sniggered to one another. “You think Papa Skull’s _boring?”_ Darci cried in outrage. He snuck a glance at Claire and she had her lips pressed tightly together to stop herself from smiling.

“Yeah! What the hell? I—” Mary shut her mouth instantly and reconsidered what she was about to say—which was too bad, because for a second Jim hoped she’d admit right in front of Claire to setting them up. “Like, if you’re gonna spend money on tickets, at least get your money’s worth!”

“Oh, I got my money’s worth, all right,” Jim grinned, feeling some confidence returning. “Seeing the look on everyone’s face when the fire alarm went off was priceless.”

Steve cackled, much to the displeasure of some of the kids, whom had probably been attendees of the concert and were still sore about their Saturday being ruined. “I’m telling you, man! It’s like Lake woke up one morning and decided to be cool!”

“But you _did_ get arrested?” Shannon asked.

“Yeah, but what are cops gonna do? Book me? I’m still legally a minor.” Jim paused, thinking. “Although I think I’m banned from the community center now.”

“So, what was the deal with the lights?” a boy asked.

“Um. That wasn’t actually me. I think a fuse blew, or something.”

“Lame,” Seamus grumbled. “Is that really it? Cause if you were gonna waste my money than at least go out with a bang. Fire alarms are kid’s play.”

He earned himself a few murmurs of agreement. Jim’s smile fell when he realized the others weren’t as interested in this take as he’d hoped. But hopefully it was enough to satisfy their curiosities. He made to take another drink and was surprised to find the can already empty—he’d been too caught up in his lie to notice how quickly he’d finished it.

“You got anything else?” Mary asked, sounding bored. “I mean, it was probably fun for you and all, but that wasn’t much of a _story,_ if you feel me.”

He’d effectively broken the law and caused mass panic, and yet somehow that didn’t foot Mary’s bill for story time. That was the best thing he had on hand, too, unless he wanted to delve into the fantastical world of trolls.

Jim tapped the empty aluminum can in thought, the hollow sound ringing through the air over the chatter of his peers. Claire nudged him and he glanced over, noticing she had a beer of her own now. She was holding it out in offering and he took it without thinking. His sleeve had ridden up, and he gazed down at pale, raised flesh peeking out from beneath his jacket.

“You guys want to know how I got these scars?”

 _That_ shut everyone up all at once. One simple sentence was all it took to capture every single pair of eyes and lock them his way. By now, his scars had been noted by every person he shared a class with, or passed around in whispers until the whole school was aware. They knew about some vague story regarding a bear mauling, but they didn’t know any details. None had been brave enough to ask him.

But now that he had it dangling by a string in front of them, each and every kid around the fire stared like they were starving. Even Claire, whom had seen him at some of his lowest points resulting from that night, was too intrigued to interrupt.

Jim took a calm breath, feeling more at ease than he had all day. “Late August. Tuesday—a school night. I was riding home on my bike. It was dark. Raining. I remember being wet and cold crossing the Holland Transit bridge. There were no cars. Nobody else was around. Something was making noise in the canals and I went to check it out.”

The clearing was quiet enough that everyone could have been holding their breath. Maybe they were. He had them all firmly by the ear, fully in control.

“There was fog in the canals, so I couldn’t see anything. But I knew there was something in there because I could hear it—growling, snarling, heavy footsteps—prowling under the bridge. And it sounded _big.”_

The faces around him were stricken with horror; morbidly curious. Despite the grim details and the awful memories replaying in his mind, Jim’s lips twitched at the corners, threatening to smile.

“I was terrified, so I ran. But that was my big mistake. I slipped on the way up the slope and it looked _right at me_ with these glowing yellow eyes. It had _seen_ me. And it charged at me, so massive I could feel the ground shaking with every step. The sound it made . . . I can still hear it. An earth-shattering _roar,_ like if thunder had a voice. It was unlike any animal I’ve ever heard.

“It chased me. All through downtown, it chased me, and it was _so fast_ —faster than I could pedal. When it caught up, there was nowhere for me to run. No _chance_ of running. And when I faced it—with its long claws and black skin and horns that curled like a ram’s—I knew I was staring into the eyes of the Devil himself.”

“What . . . was it?” Shannon asked nervously.

“It was a troll.”

Silence. Then Steve sputtered out a laugh. “Oh, come on. A troll under the bridge? Can’t you at least be original? You’re spending too much time around Pepperjack—”

“Rich coming from the guy who only knows the Billycraggle story,” Mary droned.

“It’s a classic!”

“Sure, but it kind of loses its charm after the twentieth retelling.”

“That’s real funny, Lake, but seriously, we all know it was a bear,” Seamus scoffed.

Jim shook his head. “I never saw a bear.”

“But _you_ said it was a bear,” Darci argued.

“I lied.”

Everyone devolved into exclamations varying in degrees of incredulity. A couple kids were kind enough to express their appreciation for his fantastical tale, and others were chortling at the absurdity. Claire was smiling, no doubt as disbelieving as the rest, but she seemed pleased he was talking about it at all.

Toby had never been more right in his life when he said nobody would ever believe him. Jim smirked at Claire. He finished off the can and crushed it between his hands.

“It was as big as a freight train,” he continued, drawing everyone’s attention back to him and effectively silencing the gathering of teens once more, “with strength ten times that of a gorilla. Shark-like teeth lined its mouth; rows upon rows of massive fangs. It unhinged its jaw like a snake. I can still remember how rotten its breath smelled. There was nothing I could do to stop it, so out of panic, I threw up my arm—” Jim shoved his sleeve to his elbow and held out his forearm so everyone could see the scars. “—and the troll _chomped_ down on it like I was a pork blade steak.”

A few intrigued murmurs sounded from the others. Most still seemed pretty skeptical but it was clear by the thoughtful looks on their faces that they were trying to fit the believable parts of his story with the one they already knew, hoping to piece together what actually happened. Knowing everyone had taken his truth for a lie was surprisingly reinforcing.

“So, wait. If this _‘troll’_ already had you, then how did you get away?” Mary said, air-quoting.

“I must not have tasted very good, because it let me go and ran off.”

“Probably didn’t like the taste of nerd,” Steve chuckled.

“That’s . . . you’re probably right, Steve.”

Mary clapped slowly, and reluctantly, those around her followed suit. “Alright, I’ll be real. You really had me going for a sec there, Lake. I guess you can stay.”

Steve pumped his fist and everyone else muttered their agreements before splitting off into their own smaller groups, some leaving the fire and others gathering around in tight circles. Claire held out her fist and Jim bumped it in mild celebration.

For once, he actually felt amazing. Relaxed, respected by his peers, and like a regular teenager doing something regular teenagers did. He felt . . . _happy._ Elated. Kind of lightheaded, but in a good way.

If only it wasn’t so close to sundown. He’d stay forever if he could.

“That was . . . really brave of you,” Claire said after a moment. “I’m surprised.”

He cocked a brow. “Surprised that I’m brave?”

“Surprised you were willing to delve into it. I know things have been rough for you ever since, but hearing you use humor to cope with your trauma sounds like a really big step. I’m proud of you.”

Okay, maybe he should feel a little bad for taking credit for something he was _definitely_ not doing, which was handling his issues in any positive capacity, but he beamed regardless. At least someone was paying enough attention to acknowledge it.

“Thanks,” he whispered, a little hoarsely, and she scooted against his side, close enough he could feel her warmth through his jacket. Her fingers linked with his, and once again he was reminded how few reserves she held about being seen with him in such a way.

“You sure you don’t want to stay later?”

“As much as I want to . . .”

Claire nodded, still smiling. “We’ll work up to that.”

He did not miss how her gaze flicked down. It made his heartbeat quicken just a little. She was already close enough that he could feel the heat of her breath on his face and it didn’t take a lot of effort on her part for their noses to brush. His lips parted in anticipation.

She pulled back suddenly, her eyes jumping to the trees at their back. Jim frowned at her questioningly. “You okay?” he asked, following her gaze and scanning the forest. Like every time before, he saw nothing. Nothing but dying sun rays cutting through the leaves.

“I just, uh . . .” Claire stammered, sounding confused. She turned back around, eyes distant. “It’s nothing. Just had a weird feeling.”

Maybe it was the alcohol. Jim felt pretty funny himself.

A shrill ringtone sounded through the air, snapping all attention to Darci. “Oh, _fuck,”_ she swore, staring down at her phone. “Okay, everyone shut up for a sec! It’s my dad. He thinks I’m still at rehearsal so _don’t rat me out!”_

Jim looked to Claire for answers and she whispered, “Her dad’s a detective. She doesn’t tell him about any parties so he doesn’t get curious. We’d all get _totally_ busted if he found out there was alcohol at these.”

Darci smoothed out her features, getting into character. Then she answered the phone. “Hi, Dad! Yeah, sorry, I’m still at rehearsal—”

“Yo, Seamus! Pass me another beer, dude!” Steve hollered, probably on purpose. Those immediately around him made violent gestures, making him flinch.

“No, no, that’s just Steve. He’s doing improv with a couple of the guys. He’s not very good at it,” Darci said into the receiver, sounding perfectly normal despite the murderous glare she sent his way. No wonder she got picked for the play. “We’re cleaning up now. Once Mary and Claire finish in the prop room we’ll be done.”

“C-Bomb! Did you find the rest of the swords?” Mary said loudly.

Claire jumped up and ran over to Mary, mimicking her volume. “Got them right here! I think Eli already put away the rest!”

Those girls would make amazing con artists if they ever decided to go into crime, Jim thought. He already knew Mary was a talented liar, but now it was becoming apparent that the other two shared the skill as well. He wondered which was a consequence of the other—the ability to act, or the ability to deceive. Either way, the execution was impressive.

They moved further away, distancing Darci from the other kids to avoid any more potentially-compromising background noise. Though a bit hushed, everyone returned to their conversations. Jim was once again left to his own devices and found himself checking the sky. It had already begun to color, but held plenty of light. He still had time to kill.

“Welcome back,” Logan greeted Jim as he wandered over to the cooler. Seamus still stood close by, keeping a weary eye on his stash, but he was no longer blocking the contents. Steve was off to the side doing . . . something.

Jim caught the fresh can Logan tossed at him, the cold shocking his hands. “How fast do you guys tend to chew through these?”

“Not as fast as you’d expect,” the boy answered. “If we had more, it might be a different story, but most people try to space them out through the night. Unless you’re—” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Steve. “—and you down them all right away.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to drink it all at once? You know, for like, effect?”

“We’re not trying to get drunk,” Seamus said. “It just takes the edge off.”

“Unless you’re leaving before it gets dark, in which case, get ‘em in while you can,” Logan chuckled. “First time having a drink?”

“No, but. First time drinking beer.”

“What do you think?”

“It’s . . . okay, I guess.”

Seamus hummed—he didn’t sound judgmental, but he did look amused. “Well, take it easy. They’ll creep up on you fast. Eat something, maybe.”

Jim gave a half-shrug, not terribly concerned. He felt fine. What was more immediately interesting was what Steve was up to. “And what is _he_ doing?”

The boys followed his gaze. “Looking for a stick, I think,” Logan muttered, sounding tired.

Steve suddenly exclaimed and straightened, brandishing a thin and lengthy stick. “I found one!”

“He knows we brought the skewers, right?” Logan asked Seamus, whom only rolled his eyes.

“If he wants the taste of bark, that’s up to him.”

Steve shuffled over, stick in hand. “Sup, Lightweight Lake,” he smirked, inclining his head. Jim suppressed the urge to groan and decided it wasn’t worth sticking around any longer. He departed without a word as Steve turned to the pair of boys. “Where are the little weenies at?”

“Wh—man, I don’t know! Do we look like we’re on snack duty?”

“Well, _someone_ brought the weenies, so I know they’re around here somewhere.”

Their voices faded as Jim left the clearing, as well as the warmth of the fire. The chill of dying daylight breezed through the trees, gently rustling the leaves and making him shiver. No doubt it would be a cold night. That was good—it meant less stragglers. More people sticking close to the light of the fire. Less for him to worry about later.

He stopped in front of the kissing tree. Endless combinations of initials completely littered the base of the trunk, slowly tapering off the higher they went. He wondered where they stopped. Who’d been the bravest couple to venture past the rest?

Jim took a long sip as his mind wandered. His tongue was numb to the taste now. The sounds of quiet chatter drifted from the clearing at his back and a question hung in his mind as he stared at the old tree before him, timeless and unyielding. Utterly peaceful.

Why had he been so worried before?

Then the peace shattered as ungraceful footsteps crunched noisily through the leaves after him. “Trying to race?” came Steve’s jarring voice, somehow never sounding any less aggressive.

Jim glanced at him wearily. “Race?”

“Yeah? Like, up the tree? Climbing? Bet I’m faster at climbing than you.”

“You saw me climb the rope in gym class.”

“This is different! It’s a _tree!”_

He wasn’t in much of a mood to exert himself, but . . . then again, he _did_ kind of want to climb the tree. And he’d smoke Steve in the process so, win-win. “You gonna try to kiss me when we reach the top?”

“What? No, ew! No way.” Steve averted his gaze, chuckling awkwardly. “You _wish.”_

Jim rolled his eyes. “Fine. I guess.” He set his beer down at the base of the tree and backed up, stopping once he was side-by-side with Steve. “Thought you were gonna eat?”

“They wouldn’t tell me where the weenies were,” Steve grumbled. He bent his knees and aimed his shoulder at the tree, poised like a linebacker. “Ready, punk?”

At Jim’s nod, he fired off a countdown and sprinted for the tree, throwing himself up the trunk. Jim kicked gracefully off the ground and scurried up the first several limbs with ease, as lithe as a cat. He may not have his claws, but his footing was still as sure as ever.

He looked back to gauge where Steve was and faltered, because his opponent hadn’t even managed to pull himself up onto the first branch. Steve hung freely, kicking and grunting as he tried to lift his weight higher. Jim plopped into a sitting position, legs dangling, as he stared down with a crooked smile.

“You better keep going while you can before I catch up!” Steve shouted at him, sounding strained. Jim’s grin only widened. “Stop smiling at me!”

Then his hands slipped. Steve fell and landed on his back with a defeated groan. He didn’t look like he was going to try it again.

“This isn’t over,” he muttered as he pushed himself to his feet, brushing the dirt off his backside. “You might be cooler now, but you’re _not_ cooler than me.”

Jim watched him retreat, shaking his head. Steve had such a narrow perception of the world and what was important that it was almost laughable. He envied Steve. He _wished_ he had Steve’s problems. Worrying about his social image was leagues better than worrying about what unpredictable bullshit his troll side would spring on him next.

“Do you have a thing with this tree?”

That was Claire. Jim glanced down to find her standing just below him with hands on hips. Guess the co-op ruse to fool Darci’s dad had ended. “Why? Jealous?”

“Only that you started without me,” she said before easily pulling herself up, little to his surprise. Her small frame was perfect for weaving through the branches. It took her no time at all to reach where he sat. “So. Steve tried to race you?”

“How’d you know that?”

“He tries to race everyone.”

“I believe you because he’s Steve, but I don’t believe you because he didn’t even make it off the ground.”

“Usually he gets a little farther than that. Those two beers must be really weighing him down.” Jim laughed, watching her pass him as she continued higher. “You much of a climber?”

He pulled his feet up and followed. “When I want to be.”

In truth, he really held back. Claire was quite graceful in her ascent, but he had an unnatural advantage that could blindly surpass her if he desired. So he kept his pace moderate, pulling ahead only because he possessed a longer reach but never straying too far so she didn’t fall behind.

There came a point where the next branch was too high for even him to reach, and to grab it he had to kick off the trunk and jump. Claire wasn’t that brave, and she gazed up at him in annoyance, and at the branch—dangerously far away—in uncertainty. She raised a single hand above her head, stretching it as high as she could manage, just to gauge the gap. But she couldn’t muster the courage to try leaping for it.

And it was probably smart that she didn’t, because her limb was narrow, and they were _really_ high up.

“Need some help?” he asked, a smug half-smile on his face as he lounged just above her, at least a half-foot away from the tips of her fingers.

Claire scowled. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“You’re not giving up, are you?”

“Jim, I can’t make that—”

She shrieked when his suddenly hand shot down and grabbed hers before hauling her up with relative ease. His other arm secured her by the waist and pulled her right into his lap. The limb dipped with their combined weight.

“Relax. I got you,” he droned, amused despite the death grip she had on his neck. He was safely nestled against the trunk and there was zero chance of her falling while he was there.

Nervously, and while still hanging onto him, Claire peered over the edge. Oh yeah, they were super high. So high, they couldn’t see the ground through the leaves. But they could still hear the sound of voices rising from the woods below.

“Oh my god,” Claire said shakily. “You are _way_ stronger than you look.”

“. . . thank you?”

“How about a warning next time?”

“Would you have agreed if I’d told you what I was going to do?”

She thought a moment before pursing her lips. “Probably not.”

“Right. Promise I won’t do it again though.”

Claire breathed out a calming sigh, seeming to regain her composer now that she was no longer moving. Her eyes wandered, taking in the many trees that stood below them, the shifting hues of the sky, and the few visible chunks of Arcadia peeking through the wilderness.

“It’s beautiful up here,” Claire whispered fondly, entranced. “I’ve never been this high before.”

Jim frowned. “How many times _have_ you been on this tree?”

She teased him with a smile. “Oh, relax. People are allowed to climb it for fun, you know.”

“Kind of cold up here, too,” he muttered, feeling the wind bite a little harder without the protection of the woods. Claire snuggled tighter against him, resting her head on his shoulder with one arm looped around his neck and a hand on his chest.

. . . okay, he was a _little_ warmer now.

A comfortable silence stretched between them. Some minutes passed before she broke it again. “You know, I keep . . . thinking about what happened Monday.”

Whoops, and there goes his heartbeat. No doubt she could feel it. “Yeah?”

“At the time, it seemed like a good idea, and I wasn’t really thinking. But the more I think back on it, the more I realize it wasn’t the right thing to do.”

Okay, now he was just nervous.

“I just feel like I owe you . . . an apology?”

Jim wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. “What?”

She sat back up and shoved her hair out of her face, averting her eyes with a sigh. Her cheeks were red—maybe from the cold? “Okay, I’m going to embarrass myself now. I’ll be honest, I was a little frustrated after Saturday. I mean, I _did_ have fun, but I was kind of hoping . . .”

Jim waited patiently for her to finish that sentence, but she never did.

“So, on Monday, I just went for it, even though I knew it was wrong. And then I tried to pretend like it was no big deal. I shouldn’t have done something like that without . . . you know. Asking.”

For a second, he was speechless—mostly because he was trying to stop himself from laughter. She was always very considerate of his feelings and that fact that she _still_ didn’t know he . . .

Well, that was probably his fault.

Despite all his efforts, a light chuckle escaped. He pushed a few loose strands of her hair behind her ear, hand lowering to lightly brush his thumb along her jaw. “It sounds like I owe _you_ an apology.”

Claire finally met his eyes, confused. “For what?”

“Cause I _really_ suck at this.”

Without warning, Jim leaned forward, stopping just before their lips met. Her hand pressed firmly to his chest, because no doubt he’d surprised her, but she didn’t shove him away, even as he gave her the opportunity to do so. Her cheek tickled the tip of his nose, and as they sat in a tense stalemate, he drank her breath through parted lips.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, and if he hadn’t been a little drunk, he never would have found the courage to say those words out loud.

Her eyes crinkled as she smiled. “I feel like you’re just making fun of me now.”

If his mind wasn’t so clouded by fierce desire, he might have laughed. But he meant what he’d said, so he cut off her own as he bridged the tiny gap that remained between them, the contact feather-light because a part of him was still terrified he was going to mess it up somehow, or that his _other_ side would find a way to ruin it.

But apparently, she didn’t have the patience for it. Jim found himself with his back pressed to the trunk as Claire leaned into him, her arms snaking around his neck, pulling him in closer. She angled her head and sighed as their kiss deepened, and he felt a pleasant warmth blossom in his belly, fighting against the chill of the waning light.

How many times had he dreamt of something like this in the past three years? And still, it felt unearned. After all the grief and uncertainty he’d put her through—all the lies he’d told, and all the reasons he’d given her to walk away—she still found worth in coming back to him. Every, single time.

What had he _ever_ done to deserve her affection?

“Don’t you have to leave soon?” Claire asked him breathlessly between kisses.

It took a _really_ long time for her words to make it to his brain. “Hmm?” he hummed, still not quite registering. Until it hit him a few seconds later and he shot upright, eyes darting to the sky. The color was purpling with its last transition into night. “Oh, _shit—”_ Jim swore as he ripped the amulet out of his back pocket. The hands were nearly aligned. He had less than an hour.

“Do you . . . not have your phone?”

“Huh? No, it’s—” Jim patted his front pocket.

“How can you even tell the time on that thing?”

“Oh, I . . . I’m getting used to it, I guess.” He snuck it back into his jeans. “Uh, maybe we should get down.”

“Do you really have to go right now?”

“Yeah, my—uh, my mom will be home soon anyway, so . . . I should try to beat her there.”

Claire didn’t seem very eager to comply, but she gave him space to climb back down. Jim carefully lowered himself until his feet dangled, then dropped. His feet hit solid tree.

“Coming?” he called up, realizing Claire was still lagging behind.

“Just a sec,” she answered. The sound of scraping could be heard and Jim leaned over just enough to sneak a peek at what she was doing. With her keys, she arduously carved four letters, separated only by a single plus sign in the middle. Their initials, branded into the tree forever, like all the others below them. And now that Jim was looking, he realized there were no other pairings at their elevation.

Was having troll powers technically cheating? Probably. He didn’t care.

Claire finished and sat back to admire her work, beaming. She grinned down at him and he smiled hopelessly back, feeling an ache in his chest as he gazed up at her with such adoration he could hardly breathe.

Her expression fell as she remembered the distance between them. “How exactly were you planning on getting us back down?”

Jim’s smile grew. He held up his hand. “Just trust me.”

* * *

“Man, _there_ you are. Thought you got lost—almost called you,” Toby said with a relieved smile as he spotted Jim exiting the tree line. He gave him a once-over before scowling. “Are you drunk?”

Jim halted in bewilderment. “What? No, of course not. What makes you think that?”

Toby pursed his lips and shrugged. “Never mind. Just thought you looked kind of stupid wearing your regular clothes.”

Confused, Jim glanced down at his body and—oh. He’d forgotten to change into his night clothes before the transformation hit, just minutes before. No wonder his pants felt so tight. “Okay, maybe I drank . . . a little. But I wasn’t drunk. I only had like, two beers.”

Toby raised a skeptical brow. “Just two?”

“. . . maybe three. Or four—I don’t know, I wasn’t keeping count. Whatever, I’m fine now.”

And it was true. Turning into a troll had a way of instantly sobering one up. All of the blissful fog was gone and he was back to feeling anxious and restless.

Toby readjusted his bag and grinned excitedly. “Alright, Dark Knight. Let’s get a move on. It’s Friday night and I’m craving danger.”

“You just want to go to the party.” Jim bopped him on the shoulder as he passed. Toby flashed his braces at him—guilty as charged.

Something made him pause before he followed. They were being watched, his instincts told him. Jim peered around at the darkening street, at the scattered buildings and sparse parked cars. Sitting on a low roof was a pair of small, glimmering eyes, set into the silhouette of a feline.

Jim huffed in annoyance. “That guy sucks at taking care of his cat.”

Toby stopped and turned around, following his gaze. “Oh, come on. Maybe he’s just a free spirit.”

“He’s a _nosy_ free spirit. I swear, that thing is always around. He’s lucky I stopped trying to eat him.”

“. . . you tried to eat him?”

“Only like once or twice. He’s too fast for me, anyway.”

Toby didn’t seem very pleased with that information but he shook his head and continued on without a word. Jim did the same, throwing the black cat one last irritated glance before catching up to Toby in the trees.

“Hold on,” he began, dropping his bag and unzipping it. “I gotta change before I permanently nix my chance of having kids in the future.”

Toby cringed. “That bad?”

 _“Yes,_ that bad.” Jim pulled out his night clothes and left them sitting on his bag while he shucked off his jacket and pulled his shirt over his head. Or, tried to. His shirt ripped the instant it touched the tips of his horns. He sighed loudly. “I hate this.”

His friend was putting a lot of effort into not laughing. “Need any help?” Toby asked, sounding strained.

“Ask me that again and I’m going to punt you like a football.”

There was really no hope of getting his shirt off in one piece, so Jim bit the bullet and tore it in two. Thank goodness it wasn’t one of his favorites. His pants were _infinitely_ harder to get off and took a lot of force (and, again, some ripping) just to get them past his hips. After that, he was pretty much home free.

“Oh, that’s a cute shirt,” Toby exclaimed as Jim finished tugging on his Papa Skull shirt. “Did Claire get that for you?”

“Yes,” Jim grumbled with a glare, showing his teeth. Toby clicked his mouth shut and spun on his heel to walk in the opposite direction, finally giving him some privacy. But it was a little late for it at this point. Jim remounted his bag and hurried after him. “Remember the plan?”

“Of course. You play ghost sentry in the woods and I keep internal tabs on our friends and peers in case a troll decides to crash. Easy.”

“And we’re officially on mission, so _no drinking.”_

Toby scoffed indignantly. “What the hell? _You_ got to drink.”

“It was also daytime. Besides, _you_ can go to these things any time you want. I’m screwed as soon as the sun drops, so cut me some slack.”

Remembering that fact always put a knot in his stomach. His life began and ended with the sun. He wasn’t sure if that would change any time soon, if ever.

God, he really hoped Blinky figured something out eventually.

“Okay, fair enough. No drinking. Where are we going again?”

“Have you ever heard of the ‘kissing tree?’”

“Yeah. Who hasn’t?”

Jim rolled his eyes, because of _course_ Toby would be privy to a reputable teenage-fling hookup spot. “It’s like, right next to it. I know the way.”

And even if he couldn’t find his way back by memory alone, the lingering scents of human flesh pointed him in the right direction. Puberty sure seemed to have a way of making teenagers smell stronger than normal people. Not a very fun thought to dwell on.

“Copy that, Nightcrawler.”

_“Nightcrawler?”_

“Yeah, like X-Men?”

“Okay, I am _begging_ you stop with the codenames. You’re not even being original anymore.”

They ventured deeper into the forest, the last of the day’s light waning into utter darkness as night finally settled. The moon was nearly full and cast ethereal rays through the tree canopy, but the shadows of the wilderness were deep and black, impossible to see through. Unless one had troll eyes.

Thankfully, Toby had thought ahead and brought a flashlight. He walked some paces behind Jim, using its beam to idly scan the trees around them, while Jim kept his vision locked ahead. He was determined to make it back as soon as possible.

“Dude, where are you going?”

Jim faltered, realizing he’d strayed off. Toby was some yards away and shined the light at him. He hissed as it hit his eyes and he raised an arm to shield himself.

“Oh—sorry.” Toby maneuvered the flashlight’s beam lower. He gestured in a very different direction than the one Jim had been moving in. “Isn’t the bonfire this way?”

For a moment, Jim was confused, because his friend was right. How had he ended up over here? Shaking his head, he walked back over to join Toby, this time bringing up the rear. He kept his eyes trained on the trees, vigilant.

When he looked back, Toby was gone and he was alone. Frantic, Jim whipped around, looking for his friend, but all trace of him was absent. Even his scent had vanished. It was . . . inexplicable, and not to mention alarming. He quickly whipped out his phone.

 _“Are you doing this on purpose?”_ came Toby’s annoyed voice from the other end, sounding completely normal. And unharmed. Jim took a deep breath.

“Where are you?”

_“Going to the bonfire. That was the plan, remember?”_

“But where _are_ you?”

Toby let out a long, exasperated groan before hanging up. Jim stared at his phone’s screen before his ears twitched, hearing the sound of approaching footsteps. Another minute later and Toby appeared.

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, looking bored. “Bonfire. That way.”

Jim was starting to feel a little freaked out. He swallowed and nodded.

The third time he lost Toby he definitely knew something was up. There wasn’t a chance in hell he could get lost with his troll senses, but he also had no idea what was happening. Nor did he know how to stop it.

“Okay, you know what? We’ll just do this now,” Toby sighed as he dug around in his backpack, having had to turn around to find Jim _again_. He pulled out his own walkie-talkie and brought it to his lips. “Bloody Baron to the White Wolf. Come in, White Wolf,” he said, his voice coming out as muffled crackling from the receiver in Jim’s bag.

Jim scowled and pulled it out. “I hear you loud and clear, _Toby.”_

“Okay, sick. I’m just gonna find my way to the party myself and you can keep doing your weird wandering thing. I’ll keep you posted.”

There really wasn’t much he could do to argue, especially since he couldn’t seem to keep up with Toby no matter how hard he tried. Feeling defeated, a little annoyed, and very put off, Jim watched Toby disappear through the trees again, leaving him behind.

Not a very promising start to his night.

It’d been some time since Jim last traveled through the woods on his own. That was before Blinky—before Trollmarket. Before having any idea what he was. He kind of missed it. The wilderness was vast, and therefore always disconnected from the bustle of Arcadia, so even during the day it was peaceful. But the night always brought a sense of remote serenity that only a troll could truly appreciate. The sounds were different; the smells were different; and most of all, the atmosphere shifted away from human favor.

And it was also painfully lonely. Even knowing Toby was at the other end of his walkie-talkie, Jim felt the emptiness of his environment like a hole in his chest. He ached to be back at the bonfire, with Claire and her friends and the other kids, carefree and careless. Living the life that was robbed from him.

His receiver buzzed with incoming static. _“Call sign: Master Chief, paging Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Over.”_

“You’re not even trying anymore.”

_“I’m running out of inspiration. Anyway, I have eyes on the civilians. I repeat: eyes on civilians. Over.”_

“I really hope you don’t talk like that the whole time.”

 _“Not in front of the civs, I won’t. You don’t think they’re gonna make me leave, do you?”_ A pause. _“Over.”_

“Just go find Claire. She’ll sweet talk Mary if needed, but you’ll probably be fine.” Jim thought for a moment. “And, uh. You might have to tell a scary story to be allowed to stay.”

_“That’s no problem. I’ve got a million. Over and out.”_

He pocketed the walkie-talkie, not intending on using it again unless it was urgent. It probably wouldn’t bode well for Toby if his own walkie went off in the middle of a bunch of people, so he figured it was best to wait for contact. He trusted Toby to get ahold of him if something came up.

But if there _was_ trouble at the bonfire . . . could Jim even find his way there?

No, don’t focus on things like that. Making himself worry wasn’t going to help. If the worst came to pass, he’d figure it out.

For now, he had all the freedom in the world.

Hours passed. The forest was quiet. The moon shone directly overhead, like a beacon through the leaves, but nothing moved in the deep shadows. His walkie didn’t sound off again. Jim, with little to do beyond roaming, found himself once more attempting to find the clearing with the bonfire. But no matter how straight of a line he walked, he always ended up going the opposite direction. It was like a big, invisible bubble surrounded that particular chunk of wilderness, and Jim was forced to patrol just beyond its boundaries.

He slowed his walking as something occurred to him. Maybe that was the reason he hadn’t seen the clearing before today. Maybe the bubble had always been there, and he just hadn’t noticed it turning him around. Turning him away.

Whatever was doing it really didn’t want him there. Or, at least, the troll part of him.

So weird.

He was starting to get bored. It was nearly midnight, and not so much as a change in the wind. One of the old shoes in his bag was already gone and he was tempted to start on the next one just for something to do. Maybe he should have brought his homework.

. . . nah.

Jim quickly bounded up a tree until he reached the highest limbs that could support his weight. He tried using the elevations to get his bearings but the leaves were a little too dense. He hopped from tree to tree until he found one that offered the view he was looking for.

Not only was the kissing tree really tall, but it was on a hill. Even from his lower altitude he could make it out with ease, and it gave him some comfort just being able to see where he knew his friends were. He sat down and reclined against the trunk, reaching into his bag for the shoe.

He started as his walkie suddenly crackled in his pocket, the shoe slipping from his fingers. _“Iron Knuckle to Beast Slayer. Over.”_

Jim stared mournfully at the shoe several yards below him on the ground. With an agitated sigh, he fished out the radio to answer. “I’m about to eat the walkie just so I don’t have to hear any more of your stupid names.”

_“I think I’m on the verge of a breakthrough.”_

“What do you want? Is everything okay?”

_“Everything is clear and crystal. No signs of trolls or ghosts or dragons or whatever. Just thought you’d want an update. You?”_

“Same here. All quiet.”

_“See? Nothing to worry about. You can relax.”_

Jim took a deep breath, having not realized how tensed his shoulders were. Maybe Toby was right and he was just being overly-paranoid after what happened last weekend. It wasn’t like Mary didn’t host these gatherings without incident all the time. “Yeah . . . okay. How’s the bonfire?”

_“Uh, massive! There is no way this is legal. It’s awesome. Did you know Steve brought a chainsaw?”_

“Please tell me he’s not using it.”

 _“No. But_ I _want to.”_

Jim rolled his eyes. “I’m glad you’re having fun,” he muttered.

_“Man, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be rubbing it in.”_

“No, it’s fine. I was able to drop by for a couple hours earlier. Just don’t forget to keep a lookout. And you better not be drinking.”

_“You’ll be happy to know I’m abstaining from any adult beverages—mostly because Seamus ran out already. Anyway, if anything changes, I’ll let you know. Duke Toby out.”_

The walkie fizzed out with a click and the following silence rang loudly in his ears. Jim peered at the distant kissing tree from his perch, just able to make out the flickering orange of the fire somewhere behind it. It _must_ be pretty big for him to see its light at all. He really hoped they didn’t accidentally start a wild fire or something—though he had a feeling Mary was something of an expert at this point and there was probably nothing to worry about.

Jim glanced at the sky, then shifted to check the time—but instead of pulling out his phone, his hand found the amulet, and the soft ruby glow filled the air. Its iron hands told him all he needed to know, for at any given time the most important thing was to keep track of his transition points.

The hands pointed in near opposite directions from one another, nearing the night’s second half. He still had hours left in his stone skin and all he yearned for was for the next day’s sun to rise and put an end to this one.

He heard a whisper—too soft, too indistinct to make out. Ears perking, his eyes scanned the forest and saw nothing. Then something flickered across his vision and dread filled his stomach.

Not now.

_Not now._

A sharp pain pulled behind his eyes, forcing his hand to his head with a groan. That awful, _horrible_ voice beat against the inside of his brain, buzzing, incomprehensible, destroying his ability to think. Words blurred together and he couldn’t make out any through the noise.

Except for one.

_“Eclipse.”_

Splinters flashed in his eyes like before, but they were subtle, never forming a decipherable picture. The amulet, still cradled in his palm, shuddered lightly. Its hands ticked slowly and rhythmically, as they always did, before lurching with a shrill _shhhing!_

Jim jerked violently as the hand holding the amulet was suddenly flesh and skin, nearly sending him over the edge of the branch. Out of reflex, he slammed his hands against the tree and dug his claws deep into bark, anchoring himself. The amulet dropped to the earth.

The visions stopped. Instantly. Jim, with a racing heart, glanced at his hand again, which was stuck fast in the tree by four, thick, stony fingers.

Still a troll. Still a troll. Okay.

The amulet had rolled some ways away from the base of the tree, its red glow giving away its position. Jim freed himself and slid down the trunk, his claws carving deep grooves into its surface and chipping off the bark. He moved to retrieve the magical item once his feet hit solid ground.

As soon as his fingers closed around the amulet, his hackles raised as he felt a powerful presence. Standing very close. Standing directly in front of him.

Jim, knelt on the ground, met the eyes of an old man, looming with hands behind back, shimmering green and translucent.

Looking at him. _Seeing_ him. Considering him.

The old man’s mouth parted but Jim heard his voice inside his mind—as clear as a cloudless sky, and as loud as a thundering storm.

_“James Lake Junior.”_

Jim fell back with a terrified yelp, the amulet falling from his grasp once more. The old man was gone. His eyes flicked around wildly, searching, chest heaving with frantic breaths.

But he was completely alone.

Except for the amulet, which ticked harmlessly in the dirt next to him.

Shakily, he pushed himself back to his feet, eyeing the artifact wearily. His fingers trembled as he reached out to touch it.

Nothing happened. Gingerly, he scooped it up into his hands, staring hard at the glimmering stone set within. The metal, usually cool to the touch, felt warm in his hands.

“Who are you?” he asked the amulet quietly, voice quivering.

The big hand clicked and spun with the whirring of gears until it pointed straight ahead. He heard only a faint whisper in his mind.

_“Run.”_

Without understanding why, he listened. Jim took off in a full sprint where the amulet directed.

Trees zipped past in a blur as he ran, moving so fast his eyes grew watery from the wind. But he didn’t stop. He kept going with a sharp sense of urgency, not knowing where he was headed, just feeling like he had to get there quickly.

He had no reason to trust this voice, these visions. They’d done nothing but bring him pain and confusion. But something deep inside told him that this was not something to ignore.

Jim saw something ahead—someone. Her colors possessed little contrast in the dark but he’d recognize them anywhere. It was Claire, presumably on her way home. She’d mentioned leaving before the bonfire ended to avoid being missed by her parents. His brain screamed at him to slow down, that she’d see him if he didn’t.

But his instincts told him something else entirely, and time felt like it slowed as his attention flicked to the sudden burst of magical fire—blazing purple between gnarled fingers, illuminating a cadaverous complexion, and standing in stark polarity to molten yellow eyes.

Eyes he remembered from the concert. Eyes he remembered from the auditions.

Eyes gleaming with murderous intent on the girl in front of them.

Furious red flared along his skin. A snarl tore through his lips. He kept running.

Claire started and turned, hearing his footsteps—but it was too late. Jim lunged just as the fire shot from the troll’s hands.

The explosive impact knocked him clear off his feet. He hit the ground hard, tumbling through the dirt, keeping his body tightly curled, before jerking to a sudden halt in a kneel. He huffed in pain, grinding his teeth against the vicious sting in his back, piercing so deeply it felt like his insides were on fire.

He cracked open his eyes. Claire, cradled in his arms and trembling, stared at him in frozen terror. Blood beaded from a thin cut on her forehead, but otherwise she appeared unharmed. Her ashen features were irradiated by the red glow of his grooves. She was too scared to push him away. Too scared to make a sound.

But she found the courage a second later, and it was the perfect warning. Claire glanced past his shoulder and shrieked and Jim whipped around in time to see the troll fire another blast at them. Without hesitation, he shifted to shield her with his body and cried out as it threw him to the ground.

He kept just enough sense to stop himself from crushing Claire beneath him as he threw out his arms to catch himself. The magic fizzled against his skin and he shuddered out a groan. Maybe Claire understood he was trying to protect her because she didn’t make to run, lest she forfeit the cover he provided. With a determined growl, Jim shakily pushed himself to his knees, his lip curled to bare all his teeth as he glowered in warning at the slowly approaching troll.

If the troll felt threatened at all, he didn’t show it. That just made Jim angrier. He left Claire and charged with a beastly roar, fully prepared to kill. The troll brandished a wicked staff just as Jim pounced, raising it between them. Jim landed on the staff instead and the troll flung him away as easily as swatting a fly.

Jim twisted and landed on his feet. The troll had already disregarded him as he turned his icy gaze back to Claire, whom still lay, petrified, in the dirt nearby. The troll’s back was to Jim, and if there was anything he’d learned from Draal, it was to never turn one’s back on an adversary. Jim curled his hand into a tight fist and sought his advantage.

When he caught up again and swung, his knuckles brushed only air. Jim staggered to a stop in shocked confusion as he frantically searched for the troll, but it was as if he’d vanished into nothingness. Claire still lay petrified in the dirt nearby, untouched, watching him. For a brief moment, he met her gaze.

Something _whooshed!_ behind him and Jim turned in time to be greeted by a foot cracking against the side of his face. His vision flashed white. He stumbled hard into something solid—a tree, he thought—before blindly staggering in the opposite direction. He was too slow to stop the troll from whacking him with the staff like a tee ball, and he dropped heavily into the dirt.

This wasn’t going too well. At least with Draal, he’d given Toby the chance to escape. But Claire was still too frightened to move, and he wasn’t confident he could win against such a powerful troll at this rate. A fist knocked him back to the ground when he tried to stand, and he lay flat, groaning weakly.

If Claire wasn’t the troll’s primary target, no doubt Jim would already be dead.

Jim felt his body rise from the ground as he was embraced in the dreadful, freezing grip of a force he could not see. The troll’s staff shuddered with power and he muttered something in Trollish, and Jim felt the air rush from his lungs as he was squeezed from the inside.

For a terrifying moment, he couldn’t breathe.

But the troll barked out a command and the forest zipped into a blur as Jim was launched through the air. His back connected with something and the whole world went dark.

He jerked back to consciousness a second later, the adrenaline in his system demanding he stay awake. He sat slouched against the tree he’d hit, a terrible ache in his spine, and feeling a deep chill in his bones colder than anything he’d ever felt. His body shivered uncontrollably as he watched the troll approach Claire, the staff raising above his head, a Trollish chant filling the air. The staff’s twisted maw sparked with magic.

The red in his grooves flared and Jim huffed with a snarl. Maybe he couldn’t fight a troll like this, but he would _not_ let it have her. He would die before that ever happened.

The troll pointed his staff at Claire. She screamed and tried scrambling back but her hands slipped and she dropped back to the ground. Tears tracked through the dirt on her face.

Jim threw himself onto the troll’s back right as the staff fired. Its arcing blast went wide and Claire flinched as a deadly stream of magic whipped over her head before exploding the tree next to her in a shower of scorched bark. Jim, with a raging bellow, grabbed the staff before yanking back as hard as he could. The troll snarled as it was crushed against his throat, staggering away from Claire as Jim kept pulling, hoping with all he had that it’d tear the bastard’s head right off.

The troll released the staff and grabbed Jim instead. Jim immediately tossed the staff away and scratched viciously as his hold began to loosen. He tore through the troll’s hood and the troll howled with pain when his claws cut deep grooves into the side of his face, just before he was finally thrown off.

Jim landed on his side but rolled to a low crouch on all fours. The troll had a hand pressed to his face where deep, dark gouges marred his skin. The hood had fallen off, revealing twisted horns that curled around his skeletal face like decaying talons. The troll glared at him sinisterly, no longer viewing his presence as a simple annoyance. He reached under his cloak and charged, the moonlight glinting off the blade of a dagger.

Jim had no weapon. He had no means of defending himself beyond crossing his arms to stop the blade from plunging into his throat. The troll loomed over him, pressing harder, looking for the kill, but Jim wouldn’t give. The blade trembled, inches from his face.

The troll changed his course of action and Jim felt the sting of the dagger as it bit into his cheek, slicing across skin. He stumbled away, screaming with a roar as it _burned,_ a hand pressing desperately to the wound. He could hear his skin sizzling beneath his palm. The pain was so fierce and concentrated he couldn’t think straight.

In the next instant, he was slammed against a tree as the troll shoved his arm against his throat, pressing him higher and higher until his feet no longer touched the ground. Jim huffed and growled and snarled as he stared into the troll’s shimmering eyes, wanting nothing more than to sink his teeth into stone.

He could actually hear the grinding of stone as molten yellow rings shifted in their sockets, flicking to the cut on his cheek. Eyes widened and the troll faltered.

“You’re no troll,” he muttered, sounding part disbelieving and part intrigued. Jim froze, feeling a new kind of fear spread through his veins. He kicked his feet up and pushed as hard as he could against the troll’s stomach, shoving his opponent away and freeing himself.

He dropped to the ground with a gasp, breath finding its way into his lungs again. The troll stood some yards away, blade poised, and Jim lowered his horns, growling dangerously, staying low to the ground as they circled one another. He wiped away the thin stream of blood on his face.

The troll narrowed his eyes. “What _are_ you?”

Jim bared his teeth as an answer.

Draal’s training was starting to pay off. Jim kept his focus, evading the blade and striking when he found an opening. Without a weapon, he wasn’t nearly as lethal, but he still fought fiercely.

And he was so, _so_ angry.

The troll snarled as he regained his footing with a slight stumble. He wiped at his mouth where Jim had last hit him, eyes flashing. He was growing frustrated, but Jim took no pleasure from it. All that clouded his mind was an insatiable lust to kill. As long as this monster still drew breath, he wasn’t satisfied.

The entire world was bathed in a faint hue of crimson. The edges of his vision were out of focus, tunneling. Jim, was quite literally, seeing red.

An all-consuming rage he’d never felt before. And he embraced it eagerly.

With a confident chuckle, the troll straightened. He raised his hand to the side, fingers slowly uncurling. They flexed.

Nothing happened. The troll gazed at his hand with a frown before searching the forest floor, lip curling higher the longer he looked. Jim realized he was trying to summon his staff.

But it was gone. And so was Claire.

_“Escape.”_

The voice in his head made him jump. Without another moment wasted, Jim charged the troll and lashed out with his fist, throwing all his weight behind it. The troll staggered away with a grunt and Jim kept running. Running as fast as he could into the trees.

He heard the troll roar furiously behind him, the sound fading the farther he got, until all that remained was the rushing of wind in his ears. And he still ran.

Despite the fury that still raged inside him. Despite the pain that stabbed at his muscles. Despite not knowing what happened to Claire. He kept running.

Rustling made him skid to a stop and he heard a terrified yelp as he nearly plowed over Toby, who’d stepped out of the brush. Jim snarled viciously when the flashlight seared his eyes.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I keep forgetting,” Toby said quickly, immediately aiming the light elsewhere. “You scared the hell out of me, dude! Oh, so cool, you’re glowing again.”

“Where’s Claire?” Jim panted heavily, a growl to his words as his wounds throbbed. The shallow cut on his cheek felt like molten iron pressed to his skin

“Woah, wait—Jim, what _happened_ to you?”

_“Where is she?”_

Toby took a nervous step back. Jim remembered himself and took a deep breath, willing his heart to settle and his rage to subside. “Uh, I don’t . . . I don’t know. I thought she left, so I came to make sure she got home okay—”

 _“Find_ her,” Jim snapped. “Call her, text her—I don’t care how. Just find her and make sure she’s _safe.”_

Toby pursed his lips and nodded quickly, his expression shifting into one of determination. He gave a quick salute and Jim, satisfied, turned to head back where he came from. Back to where the troll had been. He couldn’t rest until he knew no one else would be in danger.

The amulet was cold in his pocket. The voice was silent.

“Radio me when she’s with you!” he called over his shoulder.

Toby’s voice followed him as he took off into the woods. “Roger that, _Trollhunter!”_

* * *

“You are such a _fool.”_

Angry was too loose of a word. Furious still didn’t feel like enough. The outrage that Strickler felt was beyond description.

He was in his office. The lights were off and the room was dark, save for the moonlight streaming in through the windows. In the corner, where the shadows were darkest, lurked the troll whom was eternally bound to the ring on his finger.

“I set out to do as you commanded,” came Angor Rot’s low, grinding voice, as decayed as the rest of him. His arms were crossed and his posture was lax, unbothered.

“You did this on _purpose,”_ Strickler snarled. _“_ I told you someone who wouldn’t be missed. That’s how this is done! Some criminal lowlife, or a vagabond. Not the _daughter_ of a _public servant!”_

“The girl was alone in the woods. She was easy prey.”

“And yet, here you are,” Strickler gestured viciously to the troll. “Empty handed. Thwarted by a youngling with a dangerous sense of adventure. And thank goodness for that intervention, for tomorrow would otherwise bring uncontainable chaos alongside Gunmar’s wrath. Thanks to _your_ trickery.”

“This was not a troll.”

That was enough to make Strickler pause. “And what makes you so sure?”

“Trolls do not _bleed.”_

Silence filled the space as the final tremors of Angor’s rattling timbre dissipated. Strickler eyed the assassin with weary uncertainty, reluctant to believe his words. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d lead him astray out of ill will.

Angor Rot inclined his head, sensing the distrust. “I wounded him—a minor laceration, but enough to pierce the skin. My blade drew blood, and the stench was . . . almost human.”

Strickler shook his head. “That can’t be possible.”

“What other reason would a troll have in protecting a human girl?”

He lowered his gaze in thought. Why, indeed. Just what kind of company was Claire exactly keeping these days?

“I know not what this _creature_ is, but I could sense a deep, terrible power within. An unnatural and wicked beast, and a plague on this world.” Angor Rot straightened and headed for the door—a humiliating punishment for losing his dreadful _Skathe-Hrün_ to a trollish welp. “Take _that_ to your brute Underlord.”

“No,” Strickler said resolutely. Angor paused, curious. “Gunmar need not know of this. I shall look into it myself. But _you—_ leave the Nuñez girl alone. I don’t want to hear of you terrorizing her again.”

The assassin regarded him with mild annoyance, but didn’t respond. He ducked through the door and it slammed shut behind him. His frigid presence evaporated from the room like melting frost. Strickler sighed tiredly, having little confidence Angor would properly carry out his request for living human flesh. No doubt he’d have to get his own hands dirty to please Gunmar.

Strickler leaned back on his desk, fiddling with the ring on his finger, deep in thought. A troll with human blood . . .

What sort of madness could have created that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i gotta stop writing such long chapters
> 
> didn't mean to upload this at like 2:30am but i was so busy this week and i simply couldn't find enough time to write before friday but i wanted to at least get it up before i went to bed. one of these weeks i'll get back on track lol. hoping in the future to know ahead of time if i need to skip a week again so i can warn you guys but it won't be a regular thing. as of today i'm back to weekly updates
> 
> anyway next week things start getting kinda not good :D


	17. Blurring Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He expected Claire to act a little weird, but Jim wasn't totally sure why he was also acting weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sup kings i'm here with the new chapter a day late as is routine :D but next week is thanksgiving and i have two days off for the holiday so maybe i'll finally have time to write everything before friday!!!! (I KNOW HARD TO BELIEVE LMAOOOO)
> 
> quite a bit shorter than the last one but a lot of information is presented so that should make up the difference. also uhhh i'm not a good authority to judge how heavy this gets since i finished writing it less than twenty-four hours ago but it does get kinda heavy late in the middle
> 
> tw for accidental self-harm
> 
> *EDIT* shit i forgot to include this when uploading but an incredibly attractive anon on tumblr submitted super cool fanart of this take on troll jim! https://blund3r-bust3r.tumblr.com/post/635375550937153536/hihi-again-its-the-anon-from-earlier-ok-i-fnished

“Are you sure you should be doing this?”

Jim sighed. “Look, she hasn’t called it off, and . . . I want to make sure she’s okay.”

He and Toby stood in the entryway of his house as he finished pulling on his jacket. His bag hung from the banister, stained with dirt after having sat in a patch of mud for hours before he’d finally gone back to retrieve it. The rest of the night following the attack on Claire had been uneventful, with no sign of the magical troll to be found. Just to be safe, Jim had stuck around until the bonfire wrapped up and all the kids went home in the dark hours of the early morning.

And Toby, being the savior that he was, had found a shaken—but unharmed—Claire collapsed in the woods, quietly sobbing. She’d been so stricken by fear she hadn’t said anything until he’d finished escorting her to her car.

After which she'd told him everything.

“I don’t know, man. I just feel like she’s going to wonder what’s up with . . .” Toby gestured to Jim’s face, which was, admittedly, a horrendous mess. That troll had hit him a lot harder than he remembered because he was covered in purpling bruises, including a visible black eye. The shallow cut on his cheek still stung. They were trophies he’d have to bear until nightfall.

But he didn’t care, because all that mattered to him was seeing Claire safe, unhurt, and most importantly, still alive. Jim pocketed his wallet and headed out the door, Toby at his heels. “I’ll worry about it when I get there. Maybe I got into another fight with Steve—she’d buy that, right?”

“Not after the way you cleaned his clock.”

Jim headed down his driveway and turned onto the sidewalk. After a few moments, he realized Toby was still with him instead of splitting off to head to his own house. “Uh, Tobes? What are you doing?”

“Going to the café, remember?”

“This—this is supposed to be a lunch date between me and Claire.”

“Oh, she asked me to come last night.”

 _What._ Jim stopped abruptly and stared at him. Toby just smiled back, seeing very little wrong with the arrangement. He didn’t elaborate until Jim prompted him with narrowing eyes.

“Don’t give me that look. Claire just got blindsided by Troll Houdini and I was the only one around to give her support. Is it really that unusual she wants me there?”

That . . . made sense. And it wasn’t like Jim was expecting a perfectly normal date after last night anyway. He himself was still very wired after his stressful night, and was already prepared to lie his ass off the instant she opened her mouth. Maybe having Toby around to back him up wouldn’t be so bad.

He shrugged and continued down the road. Toby pulled up alongside him, keeping his pace a little slower than usual to accommodate his dragging friend. They’d left a little early due to a sharp ache in Jim’s side that forced a slight limp.

“Remember. Trolls don’t exist,” Jim reminded him.

“Right. Trolls didn’t exist last night, and they still don’t exist today. Gotcha, buddy.”

“Great.” They walked in silence for a minute. “You _did_ deny the existence of trolls, right?”

Toby didn’t immediately answer. It took a warning glare from Jim to prod him into speaking. “Okay, I didn’t deny _nor_ confirm. That’s all!”

“That’s _all?”_

“Dude, you weren’t there. You didn’t see how hysterical she was. I wasn’t going to invalidate her fear right after she got mugged by a troll! Just tried to be a friend is all.”

Jim groaned, feeling so very tired. “I’m not getting out of this one very easily, am I?”

“It’s not like she recognized you. Believe me—if she had, she would have dwelled on nothing else. So just act stupid and we’re good!”

“Except now she knows about the existence of trolls.”

“Not necessarily! I mean, wasn’t she drunk?”

“No, oh my god. _Nobody_ got drunk at the bonfire. You were there!”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe she’ll think it was a dream.” He flinched when Jim scowled at him. “We might have some convincing to do.”

Fortunately, the café wasn’t far. Claire had insisted on meeting him there instead of picking him up. He was okay with that—although he certainly wouldn’t mind a ride just to give his poor body a break. He and Toby really needed to get their licenses one of these days. But thank goodness because the few pedestrians they passed kept giving him weird looks. He tried to ignore them but their curious gazes were incredibly grating. Once they were close enough, he could see Claire already sitting outside on her own, talking to—

Douxie.

“Woah, _woah,_ take it easy, dude!” Toby exclaimed, stepping in front of Jim when he suddenly growled. His teeth were bared and his hands curled into tight fists. “I know you’re still kind of in troll mode right now but you have _got_ to relax.”

Jim’s eyes snapped down to Toby. Seeing his friend’s worried expression was enough to pull him out of it. He tried to calm down; taking a slow, deep breath to ease his nerves. But his heart still pounded in his chest.

“You good?” At Jim’s unhappy nod, Toby exhaled sharply. “Okay! Then I guess we’re golden. Please don’t do that again.”

He was an idiot. Of _course_ going to the café meant risking an encounter with Douxie. He could have picked anywhere in Arcadia, and he chose the one place that housed cut-glass accents. Thankfully, the jackass seemed to be working, because he disappeared into the café before they arrived at Claire’s table.

The bad news was he’d definitely be seeing more of him during lunch.

“Hey, Sunshine,” Toby greeted as they approached, offering a bright and cheery smile despite the awful state he’d found her in the night previous. Claire started at his voice, forcing a small smile before standing up and giving him a hug.

Jim stood off to the side, waiting for her to acknowledge him. He was feeling a bit prickly about Toby getting her attention first but seeing her fail to even notice him was really chafing. Toby had to direct her focus his way just to get her to see him.

“Oh. Hi. Sorry,” Claire muttered, looking like she hadn’t slept. He almost expected her to ignore him and sit back down, but after a few seconds of her staring with a quivering lip, she stepped forward and tightly embraced him, winding her arms beneath his.

He hadn’t had the luxury of feeling his heart break the night before. His instincts had been a tumultuous, screaming storm during and after his fight with the troll, and all that’d hung in his mind was the thought that he needed to finish what he’d started. It was up to him to protect those other kids from danger, and even when he failed to find the troll, he’d hardly felt any calmer.

Feeling her warmth against him was like being struck by a tidal wave of fatigue and sorrow. Jim held her like she’d disappear if he let go. It was the first time he’d spoken with or seen her since last night, and he’d been so close to failing to protect her. He pressed into her hair and inhaled, filling his nose with her scent and just relishing in the fact that she was still breathing. He hadn’t failed.

Toby cleared his throat quietly next to him. He felt a gentle nudging at his ribs and he reluctantly released her, because he wasn’t supposed to know what happened, and he definitely wasn’t supposed to let his protective instincts win over _right now_ while they were in public.

Claire didn’t meet his eyes when she pulled away—granted, she didn’t look at Toby either. Her gaze remained downcast as she numbly moved back to her seat without another word. Tentatively, Jim and Toby followed her lead and pulled out chairs of their own.

Jim swallowed thickly, knowing it was a bad idea to provoke the situation, and scooted his chair closer. He slid his hand atop hers. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

Her eyes jerked to his in surprise, as if he’d torn her from deep thought. They looked so terribly haunted—a look he remembered on Toby after Draal, and a look he himself had likely possessed at some point. A look of exhausted fear, and of having seen the impossible without fully believing it. Claire’s mouth twitched and Jim steeled himself for her story.

“I’m fine,” she said simply, before turning back to the cooling coffee she’d hardly touched. Jim blinked. He exchanged confused glances with Toby and mouthed a question, and his friend mouthed back an _I don’t know_ with a shrug, equally as bewildered at her silence.

He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or worried. Maybe she was second guessing what she’d seen? Could he really get that lucky? But given the ashen state of her face, he wasn’t so confident. He could see the little graze on her forehead peeking out from under her bangs, already scabbed over.

There was no way she could pretend it’d never happened. Jim’s arm moved of its own accord and wound around her shoulders. Claire seemed to appreciate the contact and leaned into him with little reaction beyond.

The café door swung open and out stepped Douxie, dressed in a neatly-pressed waiter’s uniform with his hair loosely tied in the back. He approached their table with a dazzling smile. “Afternoon, gentlemen. Was beginning to think your lovely friend here would be dining alone today.”

Jim glowered, unconsciously tightening around Claire. The young man either didn’t notice, or chose not to acknowledge it. Claire only seemed to be half paying attention to what he was saying.

Douxie clapped his hands together cheerfully. “So, what can I get for you today?”

“You know, I’m kind of feeling soup,” said Toby thoughtfully.

“May I recommend the lobster bisque? It’s our special today.”

“Oh my god, it’s like you read my mind.”

“Good choice. One lobster bisque.” He quickly scribbled it down on a writing pad. “And what about—” Douxie’s smile vanished once his eyes landed on Jim, replaced by a tight grimace as he tried to restrain his shock. “Well, I see the fun never ends with you, Jim.”

Jim’s furrow deepened, feeling the pull on his tender skin. “Steak,” he enunciated sharply. “Rare.”

That earned him a look from Toby. After realizing he wasn’t going to change his mind, Douxie shrugged and jotted it down. “That can be arranged. And for our Lady Claire?”

“I’m not hungry,” she answered quietly, sounding drained enough to pull a curious frown from him.

“Are you feeling well?”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure? We have teas that can help stimulate—”

“She said she’s _fine,”_ Jim snapped. Douxie froze, Toby stared at him in alarm, and even Claire fixed him with an odd look. But despite the attention, Jim kept glaring until the young man departed with the quiet promise of swift delivery. Once he was gone, Jim relaxed back into his seat with a huff through his nose.

Now that Claire was looking at him, she finally seemed to notice the state of his face. “What happened to you?”

His aggressive demeanor evaporated like steam. “Uh. Fell down the stairs.” 

“Who eats steak for lunch?” Toby wondered aloud, though the accusatory look in his eyes screamed something more along the lines of _get it together, moron!_

“Just in the mood for steak.”

“Sure, but _rare?_ Gross, dude.”

Jim shrugged—normally he prepared his steak well-done but today he was craving something a little redder. Claire suddenly slid her chair back as she stood up, shrugging him off. “Bathroom,” she mumbled. “Be right back.”

Both boys watched her in tense silence until she’d disappeared into the café. “Do I need to call animal control on you? What is your _deal?”_ Toby hissed as soon as they were alone.

“Look, I’m sorry! I can’t help it, okay? It’s like a part of my brain won’t switch off after last night!”

“Well you need to tone it down a notch! I mean, what’d that guy ever do to _you?”_ Toby peered at the café, then back at Jim. “Wait, how do you know each other?”

“He was ushering at the concert. We talked a bit. And I threw him at a wall before chasing after a magic troll. Not super sorry either—I already have one smug British dude in my life. I don’t need a second.”

“Mm, kind of detecting a bit of Irish there, actually.”

Jim rolled his eyes with a groan. “Why isn’t she _saying anything?”_

“Dude, she couldn’t _stop_ talking about what happened after I found her last night. I don’t get why she’s holding back now. Hey, at least this way you don’t have to lie to her!”

That last part made him scowl. “I just don’t know how to feel about it. You don’t think . . . she _knows,_ do you?”

“Promise, dude. If she knew, you’d probably know by now.”

Well, that was probably true. He doubted Claire would want to be anywhere near him if she knew. That thought helped him relax a little. Maybe she didn’t want to risk stirring up any scarring memories from his own terrifying encounter. She was always very considerate of his feelings.

But part of him was confident that wasn’t the reason.

Toby thought for a moment and shrugged. “Maybe she’s in shock or still processing or something. I mean, I couldn’t really remember a whole lot after it happened to me either. After a night of sitting on it, you know, it just didn’t feel real.”

Jim remembered feeling similar. All of the memories from when he was bitten had blurred together until it’d felt like nothing but a bad dream. Eventually, he’d accepted that.

Until he’d changed for the first time, of course.

They clammed up as soon as Douxie exited the café. “Alright, here we are,” he said as he set down a pair of plates—one holding a glass bowl of soup, and the other a lightly-seared steak.

The smell of the sizzling meat immediately filled him with a hunger he wasn’t used to feeling.

“Wow, that was fast,” Toby said, impressed.

“Well, rare steak is less about cooking and more about _not_ cooking. And soup is soup, so.” He gestured to the pair of them, the easy smile on his face proof that Jim’s previous outburst was already forgotten. “Enjoy. I’ll be back to check on you gentlemen soon.”

Jim managed to keep it reigned in until the young man had gone. Then he snatched up the steak in his hands and tore into it like a starved dog and—oh, _god,_ he had to start cooking steak this way, he thought as his teeth sunk into bleeding meat, swallowing bites nearly whole.

It took a long moment of blind, insatiable eating before Jim felt eyes on him. He froze and glanced up, greeted by Toby’s horrified face. A few of the café’s patrons sitting outside were also staring.

His face burned. Jim slowly lowered the mangled steak back onto his plate, feeling a nauseous ache in his belly. “Toby,” he whispered, “I think there’s something wrong with me.”

Toby laughed nervously. “You mean, uh, _besides_ the night time thing? Yeah, I’m definitely noticing a little bit of lag on the conversion here.”

At that moment, Claire returned to them. Thankfully she didn’t seem to notice the mess on his hands and he wiped them clean on a napkin before she could. He smiled at her as she sat down and it took a lot of restraint on his part to pick up his eating utensils and patiently cut off a piece like a normal person. His hands shook slightly as he sawed away.

It was starting to freak him out how much of the troll still lingered in his mind, almost as if it was sticking around in case more danger showed up. He _knew_ they were safe out in the sun, but . . . a part of him was almost afraid to let it go.

The other part didn’t have the energy to fight it.

Jim nearly jumped in his seat when Douxie’s black cat suddenly appeared next to him with a curt mew. It briefly stared those yellow, glimmering eyes before accepting Claire’s beckoning.

At least enough of her was still present to appreciate a good feline. The cat shamelessly hopped into her lap and rubbed its head under her chin, pulling a delighted chuckle from her lips. Jim felt a little affronted, because _he_ couldn’t even manage that right now.

“Give me a piece of your steak,” she said, and it took a second for Jim to realize she was talking to him. The thought of the little beast stealing some of his meat nearly made him curl around his plate possessively—thankfully, Claire didn’t wait for him to answer and pulled it closer so she could tear off a small chunk herself. The cat purred as it chewed, looking rather smug.

Now that Jim saw it up close, he realized the pattern on its chest was really odd. Almost emblematic. There was no way it was a natural marking. Curiously, he reached out to feel the white stretches of fur—

Sharp pain flared from his hand and he jumped back in shock. Jim clutched at his wrist as he watched blood drip lazily from the small, twin scratches between his thumb and pointer finger. The cat bristled and hissed when his eyes returned to it.

Without even thinking, he bared his teeth in return and lunged at the black cat, bumping the table hard enough to displace it noisily. “Jim!” Claire snapped, recoiling as the cat bolted from her lap.

Jim quickly righted himself, hearing his heart pound violently in his ears. For the first time that day, Claire had her full attention on him as she glared angrily. He shook his head, apologetic. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t—he scratched me!”

“He’s an _animal._ He doesn’t know any better! You probably scared him.” Claire ran her hands through her hair, looking stressed. Her eyes screwed shut and she sighed. “Sorry guys, I’m not . . . I’m not feeling great today. I think I’m just gonna head home.”

The guilt and shame that hit him was like a bucket of ice water. Here Claire was, in a state of shock and confusion, and he was behaving barbarously. If only his instincts would _shut up_ for five minutes. He rose to help her from her chair, handing her purse over and picking up her coffee. She quietly thanked him but refused the drink.

“Walk me home, Toby?” she asked. Jim’s jaw slackened. Even Toby seemed disoriented by this offer.

“W-what? Why _Toby?”_ Jim asked, sounding far more defensive than intended. The part of him that wanted to stay by her side was screaming. If he’d disgusted her to the point of avoiding him, she could at least _say so—_

Claire eyed him mildly. “My parents, remember? They’ll kill me if they see me hanging with you.”

Oh. Jim deflated, feeling embarrassed. He nodded and mumbled, “Right. Makes sense.”

Fingers curled around his and he glanced back up. Claire stood close with a small smile. “I’ll talk to you later,” she said. Raising up on her toes, she brushed her lips against his, which in of itself felt like a promise.

Over her shoulder, Toby was giving him the most annoying celebratory thumbs-up jig he’d ever seen.

Her eyes fell to his cheek, a hand raising to lightly trace the thin cut with her thumb. The wound, no longer bleeding but still fresh and throbbing, stung at her touch. He couldn’t stop from wincing.

“How did you say this happened again?” she wondered softly. Her fingers grazed a bruise along his jaw.

Careful to keep his voice steady, Jim answered, “I . . . fell down the stairs. This morning.”

A slight crinkle formed between her brow. “Oh.” Claire stepped away, gaze lingering a second longer before turning to Toby. Toby—always an absolute gentleman—offered his arm and she took it gratefully before heading down the street.

Jim felt something terribly jealous roil in his stomach as he was left behind, neither sparing him a final glance. Even from a distance, he could see them already engaged in conversation. Without him. He had half a mind to storm after, Claire’s parents be damned.

Before he could follow through with that line of thinking, Douxie appeared at his side, startling him hard enough to make him flinch. “So, am I safe in assuming you’re handling the bill?”

Jim frowned at the waiter and nodded curtly. Douxie pulled the slip from his apron and handed it over, and Jim wordlessly took it, barely glancing at the charges before pulling out his wallet.

“Poor girl,” he heard Douxie say. “Looks like she’s in sore need of some rest. That’s what Archie here does when he’s feeling out of sorts—just kips down for a right snooze. Maybe hearing it from her boyfriend will get her to take it easy?”

Jim paused in opening his wallet, eyes flicking to the black cat wound around the young man’s ankles. Its ears flattened as a shrill growl vibrated in its chest.

“I already told you,” Jim snapped, shoving the money against Douxie’s chest hard enough to make him stumble back a step. “She’s _not_ my girlfriend. And keep your dumb cat on a leash or something.”

Desperate to leave and be alone, Jim briskly walked away—he hadn’t even finished his steak, but he no longer had the stomach for it. Thanks to his amped ears, he had the pleasure of catching Douxie’s last words even as the young man uttered them under his breath.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

* * *

It felt like no time at all had passed by the time he arrived at his house. He still missed having a functioning bike, but the monotony of walking helped to ease his growing desire to punch something—just to release some of that pent-up frustration. Jim hardly registered his mother’s car in the driveway and pushed himself through the front door.

Calmly closing it behind him was a choice he had to make consciously. The latch clicked gently shut and he got to work easing off his jacket, one arm at a time, before throwing it on the bannister over his bag.

His mother was standing just outside the kitchen, having heard him come in. She hadn’t called to greet him like she normally did. His weary eyes eventually wandered to hers, and for a moment, they simply stood like that, holding each other’s gazes.

Slowly, her hand rose to cover her mouth, which had parted in silent horror. When she spoke—a breathless, tremulous whisper—Jim could hear the torrent of emotion she was trying so hard to suppress.

“What _happened_ to you?”

He really wasn’t in the mood for this. Jim shucked off his shoes, kicking them to the wall by the door so they were out of the way. Then he padded into the kitchen, walking around his mother without sparing a second glance, as if she wasn’t even there.

“Jim, don’t ignore me,” she pleaded as he passed. He did exactly the opposite and didn’t react, reaching into a cabinet to dig around for the first-aid kit. Jim felt his mother’s eyes burning into his back as he busied himself with unwrapping a band-aid, insistent and unyielding. It was enough to get him to turn around, at least.

Her gaze fell to the scratches on his hand, which had slowed in bleeding but not stopped entirely. With an indifferent shrug, he mumbled, “Cat scratched me,” before sticking the band-aid over them. It’d have to do until sundown.

His mother exhaled shallowly. She gestured to his face, “And . . . the rest of it?”

He didn’t have the energy for excuses. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. With his jacket off, more bruising was apparent—mainly on the insides of his arms because his troll skin was tougher on the outsides.

But he just didn’t care anymore.

“Don’t worry about it,” was his answer. He heard the hitch in her breath, and for a moment, a tense silence was all that hung between them.

“You’re not supposed to be leaving the house.” His mother’s voice was so low he could have mistaken it as talking to herself. “Where did you go?”

Jim finished smoothing out the band-aid. “Benoit’s.”

“I know you didn’t come home last night.”

“I was at a party,” he admitted tonelessly. “Just a small thing with some people from school. It went really late.”

“Then how did _this_ happen?” she snapped, voice finally breaking as it rose into hysterics. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, but he failed to meet her eyes. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you come back with bruises. I thought I was doing the right thing by giving you space, but this—Jim, if you’re getting into _more_ fights—”

He was. “I’m not.”

“You’re supposed to be grounded! That was the deal. And we haven’t even talked about what happened at the convention center last weekend. I mean, what are you _thinking?_ If you had just listened to me, none of this would have happened—”

The sting of his cut flared as his mother’s fingers brushed his cheek and he jerked out of reach, slapping her hand away. “Don’t _touch_ me,” he snarled. If he’d listened to her, Claire might not still be alive. She just didn’t know, didn’t _understand—_

His mother shrunk back under his heated gaze, eyes wide and shining.

He couldn’t deal with this right now. Jim stepped past her without another word and made for the stairs. She didn’t follow him—didn’t even watch him leave.

It wasn’t until he’d stepped onto the second floor did he hear the first muffled sobs float after him from the kitchen. The sound numbed him from head to toe. Jim absently wandered into the bathroom, his limbs feeling as heavy as rock.

He wanted it to go away. So badly, he wanted the troll to fully retreat and just leave him alone. But it stubbornly stuck at the back of his mind like a leech that wouldn’t let go, sucking him dry. Jim splashed water on his face in the sink, hoping the cold would shock him back to normalcy.

It didn’t. His heart still pounded in his chest. His body still buzzed with restless energy. He still felt five seconds away from losing his shit.

Worst of all, his mother was still crying downstairs, and he felt like he couldn’t move.

Jim’s eyes rose to gaze at his reflection. He hadn’t realized how hard his breaths were coming until he noticed his heaving shoulders in the mirror. His eyes were wild—he almost didn’t recognize them as his own. His hair was getting longer, harder to tame. The canines in his mouth seemed narrower. And maybe it was just his imagination, but he swore he was a little taller than he remembered.

This affliction was slowly beginning to alter his human self. As if to remind him he couldn’t escape, even with the sun in the sky. That fact terrified him, because just how _much_ would it continue to change him?

How long before he looked like a monster during the day too?

He couldn’t stand to look at himself any longer. Feeling dazed, Jim pushed his way out of the bathroom and headed to his bedroom, locking the door behind him. Not really knowing what to do with himself, he laid down on top of his bed and stared blankly at the ceiling, listening to his mother weep a floor below.

Minutes passed. Hours. He didn’t know. Didn’t care. Just kept staring at nothing. Feeling nothing. Thinking of nothing. Only existing because he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he did anything more than that. Fire still crawled under his skin, burning, itching, flowing through his veins.

Jim randomly glanced over at his nightstand. The bottle of sleeping pills his mother prescribed him sat on top, untouched since that first night. Blinky wanted him to sleep once in a while. Douxie claimed it to be a fair remedy.

Maybe he could sleep these feelings off. Maybe the morning would bring a fresh restart.

And honestly, he really didn’t want to be a troll tonight.

Jim reached over and unscrewed the cap. He fished out a single tablet and stuck it into his mouth, swallowing it dry. Then he went back to his numb existing, hoping it wouldn’t take too long before the drowsiness kicked in.

Eventually, the sounds of his mother’s quiet whimpers disappeared altogether. It didn’t make him feel any better.

Some of his earliest memories were of his mother’s pain. He’d been so young, and he recalled how upset she’d been after his father left. Of course, she’d tried to hold it together for his sake, but in those moments where she thought he wasn’t around to see it, she’d fallen apart, lost and afraid and cruelly abandoned.

Jim had caused the pain this time, and he hadn’t even gone anywhere.

He was trying so hard to protect her, and all he’d done is hurt her.

He was hurting her.

Cold bloomed across his chest, spreading like expanding ice. For a long moment, no air entered his lungs. He couldn’t breathe.

Jim’s eyes snapped open at the sound of an engine starting, pulling him out of a troubled doze he hadn’t realized he’d fallen into. He blinked blearily at his window, easing himself off the bed with clumsy limbs. The sky was orange—he’d been in bed for hours. Down below, he saw his mother’s car back out of the driveway before easing down the street.

She didn’t work tonight—for once, Jim knew that much about her schedule. Where was she going?

“Hello, Jim.”

Jim whipped around with a panicked yelp, turning so quickly he lost his balance and fell harshly against his desk, knocking over the contents. Standing in the middle of his room, translucent and shimmering green, was the old man from his visions.

But the difference was this time he didn’t flicker or disappear, even as Jim stared.

“You have questions, I know.” When the man spoke, his voice echoed within Jim’s mind like usual, except now it was solid and clear, no longer unintelligible or fluctuating.

Shakily, Jim pulled himself back to his feet, never taking his eyes off the old man. “Who . . . are—?”

“Apologies if my past attempts to speak with you caused any torment. Your mind’s not fond of the intrusion. My, you really fought against me.”

Jim shook his head, confused. “I don’t—then how are you talking to me now?”

The man smiled, aged skin wrinkling around the corners of his mouth, obscured only somewhat by a silvery beard. “Oh, it’s simple: you are very tired. You can’t resist me now if you tried. How fortunate for me that you chose this moment to inebriate yourself.”

All those horrible hallucinations he’d been forced to endure, and this man was treating it like they were as simple as rainchecks. Oh, Jim can’t come to the door? No problem! He’ll come knocking at another horrible time. “Your timing _sucks,_ old man,” Jim snapped. “What the hell are you doing to me?”

The old man, dressed in noble robes with a rounded cape anchored by a thin chain, had turned his attention elsewhere, gazing at something that didn’t exist, moving around Jim’s room as he interacted with an overlapping environment Jim couldn’t see. “I haven’t done anything to you. I’m trying to help you.”

 _“Help_ me? You almost got me arrested!”

“Ah, yes,” he nodded thoughtfully. “The assassin that shadows your friend. Had I not grabbed your attention, you’d have never noticed he was there at all. And last night, in the woods, ‘twas I who guided you to her defense when you’d otherwise be too late. You must understand that I am not your enemy.”

Jim frowned. “Then who _are_ you?”

The old man met his eyes. “I am no longer of this world. Many centuries ago, I may have been revered as a grand wizard—a master of the arcane and its most shrouded secrets. Now all that remains of me and my power resides in that little unassuming pocket watch of yours.”

The amulet felt warm in his back pocket. Jim pulled it out, only to see the hands spinning in a constant whirring of gears. The sapphire light seemed to dance within the stone.

“My name is Merlin Ambrosius, and I can help you, James Lake Junior.”

“Merlin?” Jim wondered, sounding skeptical. “As in _the Sword in the Stone?_ That Merlin?”

Merlin seemed delighted. The crest on his chest depicted what was quite literally a sword embedded in a stone. “Ah! So, tales of my feats _have_ survived the test of time. What century is it, exactly?”

“You . . . don’t know?”

“I can only see the world through your eyes, Jim. Until you picked up my amulet, I was blind. Limited to the realm I conjured to house my soul while I waited for you. That does not mean I am ignorant to everything in the past, however. I know of your narrow escape from Bular the Butcher. I know what power he left within you.”

“H-how?”

“Because I created that power. Many, many years ago, during a time when magic decided the fate of the world, not men. Back when trolls still roamed the surface. A power designed to be wielded by troll hands, not mortal. Now _you_ have it.”

Jim’s legs felt weak. “Do you—do you know what I am?”

Merlin smiled, his eyes carrying a million secrets. “Oh, I know much more than that. I know your past, present, and future. I know what you are, and I know what you will become.”

Only one question screamed at the forefront of his mind as he followed the man around the room. “How do I _fix it?”_

“You can’t.” Jim felt like his entire world bottomed out—until Merlin spoke his next words. “Not alone. Not from your friends. Not with the help of the trolls. If answers are what you seek, then you must know where to seek them. You need someone familiar with the power you possess.”

If not the trolls, then . . . “Who?”

“Ah, now isn’t that the question,” the old man chuckled. “Only one person remains in this world who understands this power. If you desire help, then you must find my apprentice. Only then will you learn how to harness the eclipse.”

_“Find my apprentice. Harness the eclipse.”_

“Kill Gunmar,” Jim finished out loud as he remembered the sequence. He met the old wizard’s gaze as everything fell into place. “You want me to kill their king.”

Merlin stopped whatever invisible task he was doing to regard Jim with his full attention. Whatever mild humor had been present before was gone, replaced with a cold hardness. He inclined his head. “It has nothing to do with what _I_ want. It is something that you _must_ do. If Gunmar the Black continues to live, then humanity is doomed to be swallowed by fire and ash.”

Jim shook his head. The room felt like it was spinning. “I don’t believe you. I’ve been to Trollmarket. His army isn’t big enough to destroy the whole world.”

“You know _nothing_ of the power he wields. The potential of his dreaded blade. If he hungers for war, then he will have it, one way or another.”

“I have _friends_ down in Trollmarket! Trolls who’ve been nothing but patient with me, even though I’m human. I can’t just walk in and murder their head of state!”

“They, too, will be swallowed by his darkness. Gunmar is more than a threat to humanity—he is a plague on trollkind. He would lead them to ruin if it meant rectifying the sins of the past.”

“You’re asking me to commit _regicide!”_ The metal of the amulet bit into his fingers as he tightly gripped it with a trembling hand. He looked at it, peering at the Trollish engravings around the frame, and suddenly the words translated perfectly in his mind.

But they weren’t in English—they were in Latin.

_Eclīpsis est mea ut mandatum._

And somehow, he knew what it meant.

“Find someone else,” Jim said, holding out the amulet to the apparition. “I’m not going to do it. I _can’t_ do it.”

“You still don’t understand.” The old man shook his head. “You are, quite literally, the _only_ one who can do it. The only one with the power to kill Gunmar.”

“Because of this stupid eclipse thing?!”

“No. Because of how Gunmar’s son unwittingly perverted it.”

Jim blinked and the wizard vanished, gone in an instant. His presence faded just as quickly and suddenly Jim found himself completely alone, feeling like he was in a dream.

But what he’d just heard stuck with him like a knife to the heart.

“Where do I find your apprentice?!” He shouted to the empty room. “Tell me! Tell me how to _stop this!”_

He was answered with silence. Jim turned back to the amulet, still clutched in his fingers. It had grown cold once more, and the hands were no longer spinning, now slowly ticking towards the twelve-o-clock position.

_“Kill Gunmar.”_

_“Harness the eclipse.”_

_“Find my apprentice.”_

He couldn’t take the not knowing. He couldn’t take his friends being in constant danger. He couldn’t take hurting anyone else.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

The amulet didn’t have the chance to turn red before he threw the artifact as hard as he could. His window exploded in a shower of shattered glass. The sapphire glow disappeared from sight as it fell to earth.

His fist went right through the wall. He barely felt the pain. He punched it again, and again, and again, caring little when the skin on his knuckles broke, until the drywall was peppered with holes. He punched the closet door until it buckled from its hinges, leaving behind smears of red. He punched a framed picture of his younger self standing with his mom at her graduation from medical school.

He threw all his weight into hitting the dresser. His hand crumpled as the bones gave against solid wood and Jim screamed as blinding agony arced up his arm so intensely he felt it in his toes. He slid to the floor, clutching at his wrist as hot tears slipped down his face. His breaths came in short, shuddering gasps.

Then he felt an entirely new pain in his arm. One he was all too familiar with. Jim groaned through his teeth as blue stone spread over flesh, snapping his fingers into place in only a handful of seconds. The rest of him followed and he was left panting on the ground before long, trembling. His clothes were too tight.

The room suddenly flooded with red as the grooves in his skin flared to life. Jim leapt to his feet with a roar and overturned the dresser, the wood floor splintering under its colossal weight as it came crashing down. He grabbed the locked door and ripped it open, the latch tearing through the frame before violently slamming against the wall as he barged into the hallway.

Jim clutched at his head. He couldn’t take being this anymore. He couldn’t _take it anymore—_

He drove his claws into the wall and raked deep gouges across the surface. With a snarl, he grabbed his too-small shirt by the chest and tore it in opposite directions until he’d liberated himself of its constriction. His horns left deep impressions in the wall as he staggered into it. The markings on his torso freed, the glow he gave off grew brighter.

He wanted it gone. So badly, he wanted it _gone._ He just wanted to be _human again._ Jim frantically clawed at his arms, desperate to get out of his stone prison. The bathroom door smacked loudly against the wall as he blindly stumbled through, scratching and scratching at hardened skin, digging so deeply his claws broke from the pressure.

Jim gasped in pain and immediately threw his hands apart, forcing himself to stop. He’d managed to puncture the skin on his left arm. Blood dribbled from the shallow lacerations and dripped onto the floor.

He stared at the injury, at the trails of crimson running down his arm. His heart beat impossibly fast in his chest. His breaths came in tremulous puffs. His legs felt like they were about to give out.

He glanced up, stilling as he met his own gaze in the mirror. He’d seen his reflection before, and he was used to the blue complexion that stared back. But _this_ wasn’t what he was used to. He looked fierce—animalistic. As monstrous as he’d felt the first night he changed.

His eyes weren’t their normal electric blue. They flared a furious red, as bright as the amulet’s ruby glow after sunset.

Jim felt his anger evaporate as horror replaced it. Burning red faded back to blue. The glow from his markings flickered and dimmed until the bathroom grew dark. It was like discovering his other half all over again and somehow being more sickened than the first time. Nausea filled his stomach.

His eyes flicked down to his cheek, to the thin scar that now marred the skin. Fingers pressed numbly to the light tissue and ran along its length. It didn’t sting or throb. It was completely healed.

But it was still there.

His reflection shattered into a million pieces as his fist crashed through the mirror. The medicine cabinet dropped from its hinges and banged noisily against the counter, sending its contents rolling off the edge.

This stupid form couldn’t do _anything_ right.

Jim fisted his hair with a furious shout, tugging until it became painful. He redirected to the fur along his jaw and ignored the burn as he ripped out clumps of the thick strands at a time, too distressed to stop. Too fraught with disgust for himself.

He just wanted _out._

His eyes landed on the pair of electric clippers that’d fallen out of the medicine cabinet. Without a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed it and flicked the switch.

It was impossible to remove his skin, but something he _could_ get rid of was the wild, thick hair that made him look like an animal.

Ignoring how the clipper blade rattled against stone, Jim furiously hacked away at the fur, buzzing it all off until it was gone. And he kept going. Shaving above his ears, and around his horns, along the length of his skull— _everything._ Everything until all that remained was the crest out of reach on his back.

Without the weight of his mane, he felt much lighter. Jarringly so. For a moment he just focused on how the air breathed against the back of his neck. The floor was covered in shocks of midnight ebony, most of which lay at his feet.

The clippers dropped from his hand and clattered on the floor. Jim collapsed against the wall, sliding lower as heavy despair squeezed painfully at his heart and dragged him down. A choked sob tore from his lips. Tears streamed freely from his eyes. He bowed between his knees and tightly gripped what little hair on his head remained as all the simmering rage from the last sixteen hours came crashing down.

He cried harder than he had in years. Possibly since his dad left. Possibly more so.

Jim had never truly hated himself until today.

_Why did he have to go under the bridge?_

* * *

This was not going to end well. It never did.

Stricklander never looked forward to Gunmar’s rituals. Once, they may have proven useful for the king’s plans, but in nearly two decades they’d only brought mounting frustration.

Frustration, and monotony.

The inner sanctum of the Heartstone was a place only for privileged eyes handpicked by the Underlord himself. The occupants of the room included his most secret inner circle—those who were loyal to his cause to rid the world of humanity’s existence. A few close advisers, his Gumm Gumm ilk, and a present handful of the legion of changelings under his command.

Trolls like Vendel were kept ignorant to these gatherings for good reason.

“Let’s get this over with,” Dictatious muttered sourly, sounding a little nervous. Like Stricklander, he, too, did not find the rituals worth repeating as of late. “Where is the Underlord?”

The blind troll flinched with a gasp as a low horn reverberated through the sanctum. The rhythmic pounding of spears, as the soldiers instantly fell in sync to announce their Underlord, followed. A dull pounding grew ever louder, and Gunmar appeared, the Heartstone seeming to shudder with every step as he slowly marched for the center of the room, towering over every troll.

It was rare to see him out of the throne room. But when he walked, one could feel the living power that breathed with his movements, wafting like a dreadful aura. Reminding all that his strength was unmatched. Unchallengeable.

Clutched tightly in his hand was a staff of black iron—a staff rumored to be as timeless as time itself, as ancient as the titans that once walked the earth. A staff once wielded by the greatest wizard who ever lived, and trollkind’s greatest enemy. The most defining aspect of Merlin the Immortal himself.

The Staff of Avalon.

Gunmar thrust the heel of the staff into a notch embedded in the floor, centered within a series of snaking fissures that spiderwebbed outwards. Runes the king himself had carved centuries ago to serve this very purpose. He didn’t turn to address his company, nor acknowledge them in any capacity. His focus was entirely narrowed to the staff before him.

The game he played was slow, and Gunmar was no stranger to being patient. But when it came to revealing the future, he wasn’t one to waste any time.

Obsidian claws wrapped tightly around a shaft forged from magic. The king’s deep guttural mutters resonated through the chamber as he began chanting in Trollish, calling on the forces of Avalon to reveal to him the hidden path ahead. The cracks in the floor blazed to life as the staff drew from the power of the Heartstone—and from Gunmar himself.

The staff had never been designed to be wielded by troll hands. It took nearly all of the king’s strength to resist the staff’s repulsion, his growling growing louder as he willed his own power to take control. But the staff’s magic was strong. The many deep fractures in Gunmar’s skin flared green and he was forced to let go, stumbling back as the palms of his hands smoldered. He dropped to one knee with a groan. His markings faded to their icy blue.

The inset emerald at the top radiated brilliantly, bathing the room in its radiance. Even the glow of the Heartstone seemed to yield to the ethereal light. The gem pulsed brighter and brighter until it unleashed a blinding flash and a beam shot straight up, its rays twisting and swirling until they took form.

Floating over their heads was a shimmering depiction of the sun, bright and gold and shining as it did during daylight hours. For many in the sanctum, save for the changelings, it was the only way for them to glimpse the ball of fire, lest the real thing turn them to stone.

But it was far from the first time the sun had been projected. The entire room seemed to hold its breath as everyone waited to see what would happen next.

For a moment, nothing changed. Then ever so slowly, a darkness inched over fire. The sun waned into a thinning crescent as the burning shape of the moon moved to obscure it, not stopping until the flames resembled nothing more than a glowing halo. The light shifted from green to red until the entire chamber was bathed in blood.

Nobody moved. They all knew this would be the outcome, as it had been countless times before for years. But the Underlord always hoped for something new. Some new sign for him to follow that would take him to the surface.

Gunmar stared at the eclipsed sun above him, lightly trembling. His head bowed as he came to understand that the image would not change. Black claws curled into quaking fists.

He shot to his feet with an ear-splitting roar that rattled the chamber. Stricklander _felt_ the life in the Heartstone pull away from beneath his feet as it was sucked into the king’s body like a vacuum, icy blue markings flashing to a burning yellow. The king furiously knocked away the staff, sending it clattering to the floor and making Dictatious jump behind Stricklander with a startled whimper. The eclipsed sun disappeared and the room returned to its normal warm glow. The Staff of Avalon fell into dormancy once more.

 _“Why . . .”_ Gunmar snarled lowly, his words quivering on the dregs of his outburst. “Why does the universe _taunt me?_ Why does this cursed relic choose to elude me _now_ of all times? When I am so _close?!”_ He snorted hotly. “It must be broken. It _must be.”_

Stricklander sighed quietly. The king would never accept anything less than the path forward. Nothing less than what he wanted to see. But Stricklander knew better than to disregard the signs. An eclipsed sun was considered an ill omen for trollkind—always has been, since such a lunar event signaled the beginning of the war between man and troll. Back in the age of Camelot.

“My lord . . .” Dictatious began in a meek voice, taking a hesitant step out from behind Stricklander. “The staff is an artifact of the arcane’s most complex energies, powered by time itself. It cannot simply stop _functioning.”_

Gunmar whipped his burning eye towards the four-armed troll, and his gaze was so intense even the blind troll could feel it piercing him. He shrank away in fear.

“Then why. Isn’t it. _Working?!”_ the king snapped.

But what he failed to see was that the staff had never stopped showing him the future. Ever since the Underlord had gotten his hands on the item, it had depicted glimpses of what lay ahead, and Gunmar used this insight to his advantage. It’s what lead him to allying with changelings to begin with, many centuries ago, in order to undermine the surface.

There’s no reason the staff would change now. It was a warning.

But for _what?_

“The end of an age,” Strickler said. Gunmar’s eye flicked to him and narrowed. “That’s what an eclipsed sun represents. The fall of an empire, and crippling hardship. And new beginnings.”

The king’s gaze lowered as he considered this. He hummed thoughtfully. “The end of an age . . .” he muttered. “The end . . . of the age of man.” His teeth glimmered in the glow of the Heartstone as he smiled. “The beginning of a world ruled by trolls.”

Or the end of trollkind, Stricklander thought grimly. The beginning of a world wiped clean of magic.

Gunmar exhaled and the Heartstone pulsed softly as its energy was breathed back into it. His markings returned to blue. He took a deep breath, the sound rattling deep in his chest. “Our time is coming. I _will_ lead the trolls to glory, and I will _take back_ what was stolen from us.”

The trolls around the room mumbled words of praise, the collective emotion closer to relief than any passion.

His eye returned to the changeling. “Stricklander. I trust that you delivered on my request.”

 _Request._ Stricklander had to swallow down the urge to grimace at the word. More like demand at the threat of dismemberment if he didn’t follow through. With a stiff nod, he moved to the entrance of the chamber and made a curt gesture at the pair of guards. They bowed before promptly leaving.

When they returned, Bular was in tow. And writhing on the ground behind him was a human man, helplessly thrashing as he was dragged by the ankle across the floor. All eyes followed as the prince—bearing an amused smile—presented the poor sod to his father.

The man’s terrified sniveling fell on deaf ears.

Stricklander felt a little bad, but perhaps it was a small mercy. He’d come across the man on a barren highway, his attention having been drawn to a raised thumb, and it was clear just at a glance that he didn’t have much to his name. It was unlikely anyone would even notice he was missing.

It was illegal to hitchhike in California, anyway.

Gunmar’s breath rumbled in his throat as he gazed hungrily down on the human at his feet. The man’s desperate cries for mercy turned to gargled choking when massive black claws wrapped around his throat, hauling him high into the air for the king to admire. Dirty fingers scratched uselessly against obsidian stone.

“It’s been some time since I’ve consumed living meat,” he chuckled darkly.

Stricklander turned away, falling into thought as he exited the chamber, taking no pleasure in the echoing screams that followed him. The eclipsed sun still burned in his mind. Maybe Gunmar was right—maybe trolls really _were_ destined to reclaim the surface. The age of wizardry had ended long ago, and little stood in the Underlord’s way now. For any power to rival the Decimaar Blade . . .

He froze. Angor Rot’s words suddenly returned to him.

 _“I could sense a deep, terrible power within._ ”

A creature that walked as a troll, but bled as a human. Flesh obscured by stone, with enough strength to ward off even the enchanted assassin.

Power to possibly eclipse the Gumm Gumm King.

Strickler felt a knot tighten in his chest.

An ill omen, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not to be controversial on main but merlin is actually a gilf and i have no choice but to simp. yes it's because he's voiced by david bradley. no i will not accept criticism
> 
> i know you guys are dying for claire to figure it out just give her a minute to put together how fucking stupid jim is. angst doesn't grow on trees ya know
> 
> anyway happy murder holiday to the americans reading this turkey's a low tier meat and football sucks


	18. Picking Up the Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes talking helps. Sometimes NOT talking also helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aight so we're just gonna pretend like last week was a holiday break and this week's chapter is technically early :)
> 
> hope you like dialogue
> 
> *EDIT* fuck i did it again AHHHH two honorable and sexy mentions for goodfish-bowl on tumblr for drawing these SUPER AWESOME illustrations from chapter 16: https://goodfish-bowl.tumblr.com/post/635816921246449664/fan-art-for-blund3r-bust3r-s-fanfic-whatever-the
> 
> and to cryptid-paint for causing me physical pain by making me visually acknowledge my crimes with two more: https://cryptid-paint.tumblr.com/post/635886916595810305/ok-so-my-good-friend-blund3r-bust3r-has-a-very

“Jim.”

Blissful, unfeeling nothingness slowly ebbed away, replaced with the stifling weight of utter exhaustion. Jim’s eyelids felt like lead as they slowly fluttered open, welcoming a light that was too bright and too sudden.

_“Jim.”_

Something was shaking him. Gently, but enough to rouse him from such a deep sleep. He finally managed to crack his eyes open wide enough to see, but all that registered were fuzzy shapes and bleeding colors. Agonizing seconds passed before anything drew into focus.

He was sitting against the bathroom wall, curled up by the tub. He didn’t remember falling asleep, or much of anything really, but judging by the natural light coming through the window over his head it was well into the morning. Jim blinked blearily at the strewn toiletries across the floor, scattered amidst pieces of shattered glass and tangled clumps of thick, dark hair.

His eyes rose to find his mother kneeling in front of him, a hand on his arm and the other hovering near his shoulder. Her hair was down in a mess of unkempt strands, and the skin of her face was sheet-white—but she wore an expression of steeled calm as she gazed at him with blood-shot eyes.

Memories of the previous night hit him all at once. It felt like a sledgehammer to the chest and he suddenly couldn’t breathe. Jim’s mouth moved, but all that came out was air. His second attempt brought tears to his eyes as he rasped, _“I’m so sorry.”_

Her composure cracked.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so _sorry . . .”_ he cried, feeling guilt and shame and excruciating remorse roil in his belly like a violent storm, threatening to tear him to pieces. His mother dropped to her knees and immediately drew him in, and for once, he didn’t fight it. He sobbed against her, buried in her embrace, repeating those words over and over until they came out as little more than incoherent sounds lost to a whirlwind of grief.

She clutched him so tightly it almost hurt, but it was a pain he’d eagerly welcome over what he himself caused. “I know, sweetie, I know. It’s okay. You’re okay . . .” she spoke softly into his ear as her hand rubbed circles over his back.

There were no questions. No yelling. No shocked outbursts of any kind from her, nor any quiet wonder. His mother simply held him and whispered soothing words as he shook in her arms. Jim was thoroughly cried out from the previous night and all he could manage were mostly dry hiccups, but their intensity was wracking all the same.

His fingers tangled tightly in her sweater, terrified of letting go, because what if she left? Decided his issues weren’t worth dealing with anymore? Just how little would it take before he finally pushed her away for good?

Maybe she’d be better off that way. Maybe she should run where he can’t hurt her anymore. Maybe that’s what he deserved for being a monster.

But as long as he sobbed, she didn’t let him go. Didn’t loosen her hold for a second. Not until he’d effectively tired himself out and calmed down, and even then some.

“I . . . I didn’t mean to . . .” Jim croaked, voice quivering. He had his eyes screwed shut because he couldn’t stand to see what he’d done.

“It’s alright, Jim. It’s okay. I promise. I’m not mad, I’m just—” He heard her voice break. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Jim wondered how long it’d taken before his mother walked up the stairs and saw the mess he’d created, and how horrifying it must have been. How much did she explore before stumbling upon him sleeping in the bathroom, sitting amidst a flood of his terrible mistakes?

What did she think of him _now?_

“Come on,” his mother beckoned, tugging him up from the floor. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

His legs felt as solid as liquid and she had to lift him to his feet. Even when he was standing, she still didn’t let go. Carefully, she helped him pick his way around broken glass until they stepped into the hallway. The cooler air pricked at his bare skin and he shivered as they slowly descended the stairs and made their way into the living room. The sun through the window felt pleasant on his back once his mother sat him down on the couch.

She still didn’t say anything about what’d happened. His mother grabbed his jacket from where it hung on the bannister and handed it to him. He took it wordlessly and slipped it on because it was much better than nothing.

“How are you feeling?” was all she asked after having knelt down in front of him. Jim couldn’t hold her gaze. In truth, he _did_ feel a little better after letting out all that anger—but in its place was a deep weariness that weighed him down like an anchor. He didn’t have the energy to respond with his voice so he gave a small shrug.

His mother nodded, accepting his answer as enough. Her hand pressed to the side of his face and her thumb brushed comfortingly across his temple. He leaned into it, closing his eyes. With the other hand, she turned over each of his own in turn, inspecting broken nails. She worked at his sleeve until she’d pushed it far enough to see the long scratch splitting his skin where he’d clawed until he bled.

She pressed a kiss to his forehead and left for the kitchen without a word. Jim watched her retreat, feeling a spark of curiosity beneath the fatigue. A shuffling from behind the wall, then she reappeared a moment later with some supplies from the first-aid.

Silently, his mother worked, using a wet cloth to wipe the dried blood from his arm. Then she ensured the broken skin was properly cleaned. Finally, bandaging. Quickly and expertly executed with a professional’s grace.

“There we go,” she said, sounding mostly normal again. Her eyes moved higher. “Now. What do you say we fix _this_ while we’re at it?”

Jim felt his face burn in shame and embarrassment all over again—a shocking contrast to the cool air he felt on the back of his neck. But he nodded anyway, and his mother guided him to the kitchen, pulling a chair from the dining table on the way.

His mother was no talent in hair-dressing, but she could at least even him out. There wasn’t a whole lot left, so it didn’t take long before she finished, using her fingers to brush out any remaining loose follicles into the sink. “You know,” she began with a small smile, “I think I’m actually pretty good at this.”

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Jim muttered hoarsely. His head feeling this light was so wrong.

“It’s different.”

“It’s bad.”

His mother sighed quietly, gazing at him with sad eyes. And _still_ she didn’t say anything about the upstairs. She put the scissors on the counter and pulled him back to his feet. “It’ll grow back. For now, there’s no use dwelling on it.”

It felt like those words were referring to a lot more than his hair. She led him back into the living room and sat him down on the couch before disappearing again. When she returned, it was with a blanket big enough for two.

“I’m in the mood to watch something. How about you?” she asked cheerfully as she sat down beside him, throwing the blanket over both their laps and curling her legs up onto the couch. He stared at her in wild confusion and couldn’t help but feel like he’d missed something critical along the way.

“Where did you go last night?” he found himself asking.

She blinked, lips quirking down for a brief instant before giving a small shrug. “Oh, I was on call with the hospital. You know how it is. Sometimes I just can’t get away for long. But—" She clapped her hands together, brightness returning. “My phone is off for the day, so it’s just you and me.”

He eyed her suspiciously. The longer he studied her face, the more evident the tightness of her smile became. She hadn’t forgotten the horrors upstairs, not for a second, but it was obviously something she didn’t want to focus on right now.

And he was so grateful it nearly brought him to tears again.

“I, uh . . . I know Toby’s Netflix password.”

Her smile grew just a little more genuine. “That works.”

That’s how the entire day was spent—him and his mom curled up on the couch, binging whatever looked interesting, not making any commentary in favor of letting the mindlessness of the activity numb their thoughts. When they got hungry, she ordered takeout, because Jim wasn’t feeling up to cooking and she was forbidden from using the stove. Then they watched more, going until the sun began to set.

And all the while, Jim could feel the unasked questions buzzing under her skin, badly wanting to be out in the air, but somehow, she held back. There would be time for that conversation later. In this moment, all that mattered was that they were together.

His mother fell asleep long before the sky darkened, allowing him the opportunity to transform in peace. And thank goodness she had—the circles under her eyes made him wonder if she’d slept at all the previous night. If she found him so late into the morning . . . that meant she hadn’t returned any earlier.

Which meant she still didn’t know.

Jim finished pulling on his Papa Skull shirt, which was thankfully still in his bag on the bannister—he didn’t have the stomach to go back upstairs. The shirt was singed around the edges and sporting a few new holes after his run-in with Claire’s troll stalker, which made him a little sour because he really liked this shirt. His skin had mended, as predicted, but much to his endless despair, his sabotaged hair hadn’t grown back. Except now it probably looked even worse with the tatty patches of fur he’d missed around his shoulders.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. A miracle? Those don’t happen to him.

Stone feet padded softly across the floor as he returned to the couch to gaze down softly at his sleeping mother. It wasn’t worth dwelling on right now, he kept repeating in his mind. Jim pulled the blanket over her exposed shoulders and used his reformed claws to carefully extract her glasses before setting them on the coffee table.

“Love you, Mom,” he whispered, the rasp of his altered voice even harsher from a scratchy throat. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d said those words. Gently brushing her hair aside and being mindful of his tusks, he pressed his lips to her forehead.

Then he was out the back door as he fled into the night.

Running through the woods didn’t present its usual feelings of adventure and freedom. Now he just felt like he was running away. Running away from his normal life to disappear amongst the numbers of a world more suited to what he was becoming. As the canals came into view, and with them, the silhouette of the bridge, Jim wondered if that would be the right thing to do. He was losing control of his old life—maybe he should look for a new one. Permanently. One more suited to a beast out of control.

Just before the horngazel struck cement, his phone rang in his pocket. Jim froze, thinking his mom had woken and found him missing, but upon seeing whose portrait smiled up at him, he sighed in relief. “Hi, Claire” he answered with a weak smile, lowering the horngazel. How lucky she caught him before he lost service through the portal.

_“Hey. Listen, I wanted to say sorry about yesterday. I know I kind of left suddenly, and also invited Toby without telling you—”_

“I like Toby’s company as much as anyone. And you weren’t feeling great, so I wasn’t bothered or anything.”

What a pretty lie that was.

Jim sat down and pressed his back to the wall, crossing his legs. Trollmarket was already forgotten. “You feeling any better?”

_“Yeah . . . actually, I don’t know. There’s just been so much on my mind these last couple days. I’m having trouble sleeping.”_

Jim felt guilt twist in his chest. The nightmares of Bular after that night at the bridge had plagued him every sleep. Claire was the last person he’d wish that sort of torment upon. “Do you . . . want to talk about it?”

There was silence on the other end for a moment. _“Are you feeling okay? You sound different.”_

“Oh. Um . . . I, uh. I had a pretty rough day today.” Jim curled his arms around his knees. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

Another pause. _“. . . do you want to come over?”_

“Do I w—but, your parents.”

_“They’re not home right now. Supposed to be back super late. It’s just me and Enrique. Honestly . . . I could really use the company right now. Toddlers aren’t the best for conversation. I can come pick you up.”_

The mere thought of sneaking into Claire’s house at the risk of parental annihilation if they were caught was enough to make him bristle with excitement—until he deflated a second later. “You know I’d love to, but . . .”

He heard her sigh. _“Right. The dark?”_

“No, no, actually. It’s—I have somewhere to be right now.”

_“Wait. Are you not at home?”_

“No.”

 _“Wow,”_ she giggled. _“Big step.”_

It pulled a small laugh out of him too. “Yeah. Guess so. But if you still want to talk—”

_“I think I’ll just see you at school tomorrow. Sound good?”_

His smile vanished. “Yeah. Of course. Sounds good.” There was a rustling on the other end that indicated she was about to hang up. “Claire, wait!”

The other line didn’t go dead, so that meant she must have heard him. After a moment, he spoke, and hoped she was listening.

“If you ever need someone to talk to, you know. I’m all ears.”

Silence from the other line. Then: _“Thanks, Jim.”_ The call disconnected.

It still rubbed him a bad way how Claire seemed more willing to tell of her experience with Toby. Sure, he was the one who’d found her, and maybe Jim should count his blessings that she wasn’t pushing the subject, but still . . .

After kissing him, he figured she’d at least be comfortable enough to share her feelings. What was he doing wrong?

The horngazel scraped loudly as its point carved a pulsing trail into solid cement that gave way a moment later. Jim stepped inside and the portal closed. As darkness enveloped him, he shoved all human problems out of his mind, eager to get away from them for a little while.

Trollmarket never changed. At least he had that one constant to always look forward to. None of the trolls paid him any mind as he made his way down the main road—as usual. He was something of an expert at navigating the shortcuts and back alleys that would get him to Blinky’s cave quicker by now, and he arrived in hardly any time at all.

Aaarrrgghh was at the bottom of the stairs to greet him through the use of one large and unavoidable arm. Jim didn’t stand a chance and instantly found himself crushed against mossy stone and matted fur. “Jim back,” the brute announced happily.

Blinky glanced over from where he’d been arguing with Draal, who was present for some reason. _“There_ you are, lad. We’ve been wondering where you’ve been these last couple nights. Did you, um, get a haircut?”

Jim’s face darkened and his mentor pressed his lips together, sensing a sore subject. With a sigh, he pushed Aaarrrgghh’s arm away. “This was . . . kind of an accident. I know, it looks awful.” He had to ward off Aaarrrgghh’s insistence at feeling the bristly remnants of his mane.

The teal troll shrugged without further question. “I’ve seen some rather heinous styles in my time, and you would be far from the worse, I assure you. It’ll grow back quickly. You’re young—give it a week or two.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Jim said, hesitant to hope for that nightmare to be over so soon. He pointed at Draal. “What’s he doing here?”

“A question I’ve been asking for _ages!”_ Draal growled.

Blinky rolled his eyes. “Jim, I appreciate your honesty about what you witnessed that night under the bridge, but ever since you made it clear that Bular was our culprit, Draal has been threatening to go on, and I quote: ‘a conquest to tear the princely bastard out of that throne room of cowards, quarter his limbs like a freshly-skinned auroch, and feed him to the foulest creatures of the Deep.’”

“And _don’t_ forget about the part where I ground his eyes into a fine sand and melt them into a glass ring,” the azure troll snapped, the iron ring hanging from his nose clinking softly as he walked. Aaarrrgghh immediately shifted to block the exit with a stubborn shake of his head. Draal snorted in irritation.

“For now, we’re keeping him holed up in here with us so he won’t get into any trouble,” Blinky finished, sounding tired. “He’s not nearly as much of a help as you, though.”

“I’m a warrior. Not some second-hand librarian,” the azure troll complained. There was a sudden flash of color as something small and incredibly fast zipped through the room, followed by raucous chittering. Draal grunted in disgust before roaring, “Filthy _vermin!”_ He unhooked a small tool from his belt and Jim started as it suddenly burst into a flaming hammer before colliding violently with the ground. The little creature weaved around the weapon with ease and disappeared behind a bookshelf.

“And to top it all off, we’ve got a bit of a gnome problem,” Blinky grumbled. “Mind your feet—there are traps everywhere. What’s that on your face? Did you get into a fight?”

“Hmm?” Jim hummed, having been paying more attention to Draal waving the hammer in frustration. He touched his face and his fingers brushed scar tissue. “Oh. Yeah. Two days ago.”

Blinky’s eyes narrow with intrigue as he set down his book and moved closer to inspect the old wound. “Two days ago, and it didn’t heal,” he mumbled. “How confounding.”

“Yeah, I actually came down here to get your take on this.”

The teal troll gestured to the table and Jim hopped onto his favorite spot to sit in the library—save for the few alcoves nestled higher along the walls. Using two hands, Blinky carefully angled Jim’s head so that he may peer closer. “Where did you get this?”

“Remember that creepy troll who was stalking my friend?”

Blinky gasped in outrage. “Jim, you did _not_ engage this foe by yourself! Are you mad?!”

“He was going to kill her! I did what I had to!”

“That’s a good lad!” Draal cheered from his corner of the library where he was poking around for signs of gnome.

“Don’t encourage him,” Blinky snapped at the azure troll. “Jim, did your friend _see_ any of this?”

“Uh.” Now that he thought about it, he’d probably save time listing the things she _hadn’t_ seen.

Blinky seemed to understand enough. “You exposed yourself! Do you have any idea the danger that could pose for you?”

“Relax, she doesn’t know. And as far as I know she hasn’t said anything. She’s still in shock and I don’t think she remembers anything important. It’s fine.”

“She may not remember _now,_ but memory has a funny way of presenting itself at the most inopportune times.” Six eyes returned to the scar on his cheek. “Creeper’s Sun,” he determined. Aaarrrgghh moved closer to get a better look and nodded in agreement. Jim frowned, failing to understand. “It’s a potent poison designed to turn the victim to stone. Similar to how the real sun affects trolls.”

“But I’m not full troll.”

“It works on all things, not just trolls. A large enough dose will solidify a human in an instant, and I doubt you’d be an exception. It’s commonly used by assassins to coat their weapons, because once it starts working, death is inevitable. A single drop is all it takes to begin a slow, agonizing spread that wholly consumes in only a matter of weeks.”

Jim felt the blood drain from his face.

“No need to fear! It seems your shifting physiologies have neutralized the poison. There’s no signs of active spreading. You see? It seems there _are_ advantages to your special nature. You’ll be fine, but I doubt that scar will ever go away. Just be grateful it was only a scratch! Any deeper and you might have, well . . .”

“Lost your face,” Aaarrrgghh supplied helpfully.

“Essentially, yes. But for goodness’ sake! Stay away from this demon!”

“Okay. What the _hell_ is a troll like that gaining by going after Claire?” Jim cried.

“Perhaps you friend somehow inadvertently captured his attention, though this is also unlikely. I’m as puzzled as you are. Just be thankful you were there in time to stop her from meeting a most wretched end.”

“I almost _wasn’t._ If it hadn’t been for the amulet—” His words froze in his throat and all that came out was air. _Merlin._ Jim had all but shoved down the old wizard’s appearance beneath everything else that’d followed shortly after. Recalling the encounter made him sick to his stomach. “Blinky. Have you ever heard of Merlin?”

Six eyes narrowed as Blinky’s bright disposition pulled into a deep frown. “There’s not a troll alive who hasn’t,” he muttered darkly. “Why do you ask?”

Jim stared at the floor. “I . . . think I met him.”

That grabbed the complete attention of all three trolls—including Draal, who paused in his gnome hunting to fix Jim with a look of alarm. Blinky’s tense expression broke into one of mirth as he laughed. “My boy, you must be mistaken. Merlin the Immortal died many centuries ago.”

“These visions I keep getting . . . they’re of _him.”_

 _That_ wiped the humor right off the old troll’s face. Aaarrrgghh appeared especially uneasy and grumbled, “Not possible.”

“Perhaps it is, though,” Blinky argued, sounding lost. “He was a sorcerer known for greater feats, after all. Eluding death is not unbelievable in the case of someone so powerful.”

“That’s not all,” Jim continued. “The amulet you gave me—the one that tells night from day? I’m pretty sure his soul is inside of it.”

The incredulity was back. _“Now_ I feel like you’re tugging my foot.”

“First of all, the expression is ‘pulling my leg.’ And however it works, I’m only seeing him when I’m touching the amulet. I can _feel_ him, like he’s standing right there with me. It’s not my imagination, Blink.”

The teal troll’s eyes grew distant as he retreated into deep thought, a hand moving to tap rhythmically at his chin. “Let me have a look at it.”

“I . . . don’t have it.”

“Did you leave it at home?”

“ . . . I kind of lost it?”

 _“Lost it?_ How irresponsible! I taught you better than that. Ah, well. If what you say is true, then maybe it’s for the best that cursed thing is gone.”

“Where did you even get that artifact?” Draal wondered as he tried maneuvering around a stack of books. His girth left no room for grace and they fell over anyway, making him growl in annoyance. The gnome popped out an instant later and bolted through a crack in the wall, narrowly avoiding the head of Draal’s hammer.

“I took it from my brother many centuries ago.”

Jim cocked a brow. “You said he gave it to you.”

“Oh, did I?” Blinky chuckled nervously. “Well, that’s a kinder way of putting it, I suppose. It’s not like he _needed_ it. He never goes to the surface. I, for one, put it to much better use. But I never knew of its origins. To think it could have been a creation of Merlin himself. What mystery!”

“What was your brother doing with it?”

“As if I would know. The fool doesn’t tell me anything. Didn’t back then, either. Perhaps it was plundered from the humans after the war was over and it somehow fell into his possession. Why a wizard would create an artifact used by trolls is beyond me, though.”

Jim swallowed hard. “Maybe . . . maybe he always knew where it would end up. He told me he could see the future.”

“Time wizard,” Aaarrrgghh said. He nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Merlin was thought to have some dominion over the flow of time,” Blinky elaborated. “What _else_ did he say to you?”

“He . . . wants me to kill Gunmar.”

 _“You?”_ Draal cried. “As much as I’d love for His Highness to find his head separated from his body, that’s simply asinine! Was this _wise wizard_ aware he was talking to only a boy? You’re but half a troll. Gunmar would swallow you whole, halfling.”

“Yeah, thanks Draal. And he said something about an eclipse.” Jim paused upon seeing troubled expressions all around. He still didn’t know what any of it meant. “And, uh . . . he told me to find his apprentice.”

Blinky and Aaarrrgghh exchanged worried glances. The former uttered something in Trollish and the brute nodded with an unhappy rumble. Jim’s eyes flicked between the two, growing irritated with their secrecy.

_“What?”_

“Jim, listen to me,” Blinky beckoned, looking a bit frantic. “Trolls and wizards have a bloody history. It was them that ultimately forced us underground, but at the cost of Merlin himself. His death brought the end to the age of wizardry, and thus began an age dominated by mortals. That’s where we are now.”

“Okay? And?”

“Do you have any idea what an eclipse means to trolls?” Jim shook his head and Blinky turned to dig in a bookshelf. “An eclipse foretells of ill times ahead for magical creatures. It’s a terrible omen. Whatever Merlin is asking of you, it could be catastrophic for trolls. Maybe even our end.”

Jim watched him as he flit about in search of something. Finally, after stumbling over the pile of books Draal had knocked over, he found what he was looking for in the form of two books—one with a grayed and gilded cover, perhaps white at one point but dirtied with age, the front embellished by the stylistic rendering of a green gemstone. The other, a foreboding black, with two faces, one human and the other troll, etched on the front in profile.

“Humans and trolls have quarreled over land since our kinds met,” Blinky began, flipping through pages of the first book. “Being humans with magical gifts, wizards acted as mediators to prevent imbalances of power between the two races, as they had a foot in both worlds, so to speak. However, ultimately, they favored their natural kin, and under Merlin the Immortal, served the best interests of humanity. Eventually, a time came where tensions grew taut, and following the event of a solar eclipse some nine-hundred years ago, their king struck the first blow against trollkind. Thus, began the great war.”

Draal’s frown deepened and Aaarrrgghh’s eyes grew distant, as if remembering such terrible days. Jim realized, thanks to the longevity of trolls, that it was more likely than not that they _had_ been around to witness the war that drastically changed their race’s lifestyle. Perhaps having partaken in it, too.

Blinky turned the book around to show Jim the illustrations inside. Depicted amidst swirling magic and beams of light, wielding a black staff adorned by the green gemstone on the front cover, was the old man himself. Even simply drawn, Jim recognized the wizard as the same one who spoke to him. Behind him, a legion of silhouetted enchanters. “Merlin sided with the humans, and consequently, all wizards followed—with the exception of one.”

With the black book now shoved in his face, Jim’s breath hitched and his heart skipped a beat. He remembered looking through this particular book the morning Blinky found him as a human for the first time, searching for answers amongst illustrations of changelings. Blinky pointed at the graceful figure surrounded in black, inky tendrils.

“Her name was Morgana le Fey. A powerful sorceress, later to be named the patron of all trolls following her death. A wizard who stood against her kind and kin in our defense. The Mother of Monsters, and the creator of changelings.”

But it wasn’t the sorceress that Jim was interested in. It was the sinister troll on the next page with golden eyes. In hand, the dark, angular staff that’d nearly killed Claire. How had he not remembered where he’d seen him before?

Blinky continued, unaware of his turbulent thoughts. “When Merlin turned on trollkind, Morgana saw our value and defected to stand with us. Their powers were near equal in measure and they dueled for years before eventually destroying one another. She was the only wizard to ever be revered by trolls—Jim, are you listening?”

Jim swallowed hard, never taking his eyes off the book. He pointed shakily at the page. “Who is this?”

Six eyes fell to the illustration. Blinky’s mouth tightened. “That is the dreaded enchanter Angor Rot. He was a servant to Morgana, said to always be lurking in her shadow. She granted him his magical gifts so that he may carry out her whims. After she died, he disappeared. Hasn’t been seen since those days. It’s rumored that he still roams the surface, searching for anything that would bring his mistress back.”

“I saw him.”

That earned him a weird look from every troll in the room. Draal scoffed, “Are you mad, boy? No one’s seen him in nearly a millennia. For what reason would he suddenly grace some feeble halfling with his hideous mug?” The gnome suddenly sped across the floor and, once again, the hammer missed.

“The uh—the troll that’s been following my friend, Claire,” Jim explained quickly to Blinky. “He has magic. And he was carrying that creepy staff! I saw his face, Blink. I’m almost confident it was him. He’s like a _ghost—_ just shows up and disappears without a trace.”

Blinky seemed skeptical for only a moment before his face slackened with realization. “The _Skathe-Hrün._ That would explain how he got into your ‘community center’ so easily. I hate to say it, but . . . I believe you, lad.”

“Following human. For what reason?” Aaarrrgghh wondered.

“Another mystery, I’m afraid,” Blinky muttered. His eyes met Jim’s. “You did the right thing protecting that girl. Whatever that cursed brute wants with her cannot bode favorable for anyone, least of all her.”

Jim smiled, feeling pride swell in his chest. He did something right. That actually felt nice.

“Merlin the Immortal spoke to you, and Angor Rot’s in Arcadia. All at a time where Gunmar looks to take the surface. This . . . this can’t be a coincidence.” The troll pursed his lips and suddenly slammed the book shut between his hands. Dust flew upwards from the pages. “I would be a fool and a half to ignore the signs! Jim, you cannot look for Merlin’s apprentice. I forbid it.”

“Wait, wh—why not?”

“Because, lad. _Morgana_ was Merlin’s apprentice.”

“Yeah? So? You just told me trolls liked her.”

“Yes! In a tumultuous age where magic decided the fate of the world! I haven’t the foggiest idea as to why that cursed wizard would want you to find what remains of his former apprentice, but what I _do_ understand is the calamity that would follow if such great and terrible power was to be brought back into this world. Jim, we’ve moved past the age of wizardry. To restore it by any means would be . . . catastrophic for trollkind. As much as we revere the Lady Morgana, history will not forget how changelings, a creation of her very own making, brought doom upon us once. I fear that Merlin heralds a terrible end for trolls should you follow his word.”

 _“Never_ trust a wizard,” Draal snarled. “Deceitful cowards. All of them. Especially the Immortal himself.”

Aaarrrgghh nodded sagely. “Tricksters. Bad for trolls.”

Jim shifted his glance between all three, feeling small beneath each of their hard gazes—and very, very outnumbered. Once again, that tiny kindling of hope was snuffed out, replaced by a cold weight in his belly. “Merlin said . . . his apprentice would have answers for me. About what I am.”

Blinky’s expression fell. Without hesitation, he tossed the books onto the table and stepped forward, four arms drawing Jim into a tight embrace. “Aw, lad. It pains me to see you so lost. To be a part of both worlds brings the weight of both, and I can’t imagine how heavy that burden must be.”

With a shaky exhale, Jim clung to his mentor, his claws digging into stone hard enough to be painful, but Blinky did not protest. “I’m so confused, Blink. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“The best you can. For now, that’s all you can do. And it’s good enough for us. I know to live opposite lives must be suffocating, but at some point, you will have to accept what you are, lest you tear yourself apart.”

“How do I do that?”

“My advice?” came Draal’s voice, and a second later the azure troll’s nose was alarmingly close to his face. He recoiled on instinct. “Stop fighting it. Discard what happened in the past and welcome the change. Nothing can reverse what Bular did to you, but _you_ can choose to embrace it. You’re not two sides of a coin—you’re a unified whole, and that’s something special. That girl wouldn’t be alive if not for your strength and courage.”

“I never knew you were capable of such percipient words,” Blinky exclaimed, taken aback.

“Eh,” Draal grumbled bashfully, disliking the attention. He bumped Jim’s arm with a hand. “You’re a mutt, but you’re a _good_ mutt. Don’t ever lose sight of that.”

Aaarrrgghh wrapped his arms around Jim and Blinky, pulling them both into a crushing hug. “Good heart. Caring,” he smiled happily, grabbing Draal and forcibly dragging him in. With a displeased snort, Draal gave Jim a reluctant pat on the horns.

“He’s right, Jim,” Blinky smiled. “You may share kinship with us now, but inside, your humanity remains. Nothing can ever take that from you, no matter what the future brings.”

How a new family had managed to find him without his realizing, he didn’t know—but Jim felt the icy despair melt away as he was so firmly reminded that he always had a home to escape to when his life was falling apart. Always. Suddenly, the weight of two worlds didn’t feel so heavy.

And suddenly, he didn’t feel like such a monster.

“We’ll figure this out,” Blinky said as Aaarrrgghh released them. “Gunmar’s another matter, but I promise you that I will not stop looking until you are fleshy and pink and overwhelmingly vulnerable all the time. _Without_ a twisted wizard’s Machiavellian ruses.”

“Thanks . . . I think.”

“And then I shall have the pleasure of squishing you into pulp once you are no longer capable of fleeing from me,” Draal grinned. He handed Jim the hammer—which was currently only a hilt and a very small, spiky head. “Here. It’s _your_ turn to hunt for the gnome.”

He gave Jim a good-natured shove, hard enough to make him stumble. “Man, I don’t know if I can just kill one of those things. They’re like, practically sentient.” He peered at the handle curiously. “How do you turn this thing on?”

“Just twist the—” The hammer burst to full-size life as he twisted the handle. Blinky grinned. “There you go! Perhaps _this_ will better fit your style?”

“After watching the whelp handle polearms, I’m not confident,” Draal mumbled to Aaarrrgghh as he crossed his arms.

Ignoring him, Jim tested the hammer’s weight in his hands. Very top-heavy. And also—kind of floaty? Sometimes? He swung it in an experimental arc and its weight multiplied, slamming into the ground with much more force than he intended. “This is _so_ cool!” he exclaimed.

“I’m glad you think so! It’s a cursed warhammer. No, don’t—” Blinky sighed as Jim immediately dropped it in horror and backpedaled, the abandoned weapon extinguishing on the floor. He marched forward and picked it up, shoving it back into Jim’s hands and reactivating it. “It does not _curse_ the wielder. It’s a vessel for a gravity curse. A tad less stable than a proper enchantment, but it works. Draal likes to use it to smash things on occasion.”

Jim eyed it wearily. “Why is there a curse in it?”

“Well, we had to put the curse in _something,”_ Draal rolled his eyes, as if that explained everything. “Bagdwella’s shop was practically on the ceiling of the cavern. Now quit stalling—you’ve a gnome to flatten.”

* * *

Thankfully, his mother was still asleep on the couch by the time the sun came up, having been truly exhausted after everything. Jim was glad for more reasons than her not noticing his absence—if anyone was in desperate need of rest once in a while, it was his mother.

Seeing the aftermath of the destruction he’d caused made him physically ill. The medicine cabinet was in pieces on the floor of the bathroom; there were countless knicks and gouges and scratches along the floor and walls in the hallway, along with the shredded remains of a shirt—

And his bedroom was the worst by far. The door frame was splintered, and the door itself was hanging by a single hinge. His dresser was toppled over on the floor, which had cracked beneath its weight. Holes the size of his hand littered the drywall—there was even one right through the middle of one of his posters. A gentle breeze fluttered through the window, the glass absent from its frame and scattered across his desk and floor.

He almost couldn’t remember it happening. There was a disconnect from the memory, as if it’d been a dream, or someone else’s experience that he’d witnessed through their eyes instead. Either way, he wanted to forget about it forever.

This was going to be impossible to explain once his mom got around to bringing it up.

Pushing aside the angled closet door, which was smeared with flecks of dried blood, Jim grabbed fresh clothes and made for the bathroom, careful not to cut his feet on broken glass. He was honestly grateful the cabinet was broken because he wasn’t sure he wanted to see the humiliating mess that was his hair. Though, on the bright side, it took very little time to wash it in the shower.

After finishing, he cleaned up a little, picking up the scattered toiletries and setting them on the counter before sweeping the floor clean of glass and hair. It was still pretty early, so he went downstairs to the kitchen and made breakfast—for his mother, of course. He didn’t have any appetite. And by the time he finished it was _still_ too early to head to school.

Should he wait for Toby? He really didn’t feel like keeping much company today. Jim quickly decided he definitely wanted to walk to school alone and threw on his shoes and bag.

He paused with his hand on the door. After a moment, he walked back to the kitchen and pulled out a sticky note and pen before writing down where he was going. His hand stilled for only a few seconds—then he added an “I love you” to the bottom before sticking it on the plate of food resting on the coffee table.

The walk to school wasn’t nearly long enough. It was a good forty minutes on foot, and yet, he arrived too soon. But thankfully, the campus was still pretty deserted, and Jim managed to hit his locker and head to history class without encountering a single familiar face.

Hopefully, nobody would wonder why his hood was pulled up.

His alone time in an empty classroom felt too short by the time the first early arrivers walked in. With his hood up, they didn’t pay him any attention. It wasn’t until Toby walked in was he sorely reminded.

“Sup, dude. You’re here early. Missed you walking to school,” his friend said as he took his seat. Toby’s smile turned weird when he realized Jim was both failing to speak and hiding beneath his jacket. “You cold or something?”

Jim saw Toby lean forward out of the corner of his eye. A moment passed before he heard him exert a great deal of effort to bite back a laugh.

“Or get drafted into the military?”

With a groan, Jim laid his head on his desk, tightening the hood and wrapping his arms around himself. “I kind of had a breakdown,” he mumbled.

Toby didn’t respond to that. His eyes were elsewhere, face pinched with guilt for poking fun at something so serious. Jim didn’t blame him, especially since there was no way for him to have known, but he didn’t have the energy to comfort him either.

Mr. Strickler finally walked in. “Good morning, class. It’s a lovely Monday, as I’m sure you’re all thrilled to remember. Let’s begin with our textbooks and— Jim.” Jim lifted his head just enough to peek at his teacher. Mr. Strickler made a sweeping gesture near his own head. “No hoods up in the building. You know this.”

Mouth tightening and feeling ill, Jim slowly sat up and withdrew his only protection, keeping his eyes down. If the resounding silence wasn’t enough of an indication, the prickly feeling of eyes boring into him was all he needed to know about everyone’s shock. Even Mr. Strickler was effectively taken aback.

The man finally seemed to remember himself and cleared his throat. “As I was saying—let’s open our textbooks to page two-hundred and six . . .”

He pretended not to notice when Jim pulled the hood back up.

The rest of the class went by in a blur, along with half the school day. Jim hardly paid attention during any lectures, too occupied thinking about Merlin’s advice and Blinky’s warnings. Everything was just so confusing. Was Merlin only looking to finish what he’d started? Where would he even _begin_ to look for a sorceress who’d died nearly a millennia ago? If the wizard’s words were true, it might bode well for humanity . . . but what would happen to the trolls with their king gone?

The lunch bell finally rang and Jim decided he wasn’t in any mood to remain on campus. He didn’t see Toby on the way out but left alone regardless, vowing to apologize for suddenly bailing without him later. He just wanted to get away from the crowds and curious eyes as soon as possible.

It was a cooler day and the air was crisp and pleasant, cooling the skin of his face as he walked. The chill eased his nerves and helped clear his mind. The noise of passing cars was a good distraction. Despite these things, though, his mood remained low, and he found himself wandering without any idea where he was heading.

Ending up at Benoit’s was an accident. Why his feet had carried him here, he didn’t know, but the surprise at seeing Claire exit the café was a pleasant one. Apparently, she’d had the same idea. Jim took a moment to consider if he was up for any company right now, but by the time he made up his mind, she spotted him and waved.

So, naturally, he had no choice but to walk over and say hi.

“How are you feeling?” he asked by way of greeting.

She shrugged, a takeout bag in her hand and a coffee in the other. “Tired, I guess.”

“I’m sorry for not being able to come over last night—”

“It’s fine. My parents ended up coming home early, so . . . that probably wouldn’t have ended well anyway. You look pretty tired yourself.”

“Yeah, maybe . . . maybe a little.” But the weariness in his bones was a different one entirely. “You decided to escape campus too?”

“I was going to lose my mind if I didn’t. Just can’t focus today.”

“Tell me about it.”

Silence feel between them, as heavy and worn as they felt. Claire had definitely seen his hair earlier that morning but hadn’t commented on it yet. Maybe she wasn’t in a jesting mood. Good, because he wasn’t either.

“Sounds like we could both use a break,” Claire said after a moment. Something in her tone hinted at more. Jim eyed her curiously and a mischievous smile grew on her face. “Do you want to skip the rest of the day?”

He blinked, surprised—because Claire was one to be very punctual. This felt very out of character. “Like, skip _school?”_

“I don’t have anything important due, so, why not?”

Admittedly, his morning had been pretty rough, and the times where he hadn’t been stressing over how terrible his hair looked were filled with anxiousness and uncertainty regarding the future. Maybe playing hooky for a day will help him breathe a little.

Jim’s lips stretched to match her smile. “Neither do I. Alright, I’m sold.”

The never-ending dilemma still stood: there was simply nothing interesting for teenagers to do in Arcadia, save for having illegal parties in the woods. Claire purposely left her car behind in favor of walking with him, but Jim had no plan for where they were going, so he followed her aimlessly as she led him along the outskirts of town, away from the bustle of the mid-day rush.

“Okay—here’s another one,” Jim said after he finished laughing. “If you had to fight one of our teachers, who would you pick?”

“Are we talking like, a friendly skirmish? Or to the death?”

“Your call. But it’s bare-fisted either way.”

Claire chewed on the inside of her cheek, giving the question legitimate thought. “I think I’d have to go with Strickler. He looks pretty frail. I’m probably faster, too.”

“So why not Ms. Janeth?”

“She knows stage combat. I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“I bet I could take Coach Lawrence.” She raised a brow and he shrugged. “Have you seen his legs? Guaranteed weak point.”

“Okay, well, I’ll be sure to bring flowers to your funeral.”

“Toby would probably wanna fight Uhl.”

“I’ll bring flowers to his, too.”

They walked near the edge of the forest, just before the trees. Claire kept eyeing the shadows within uncertainly, and Jim could only imagine what she was thinking. What if that monster was still out there? Waiting?

So he stumbled in surprise when she suddenly veered that way, stepping through the tree line and continuing her trek off-road. Jim stared after her in bewilderment before shaking his head and hurrying to catch up. Claire was silent as they walked and he could feel the tension wafting off her, and it only served to further confuse him as to why she’d want to go anywhere near the forest after what’d happened.

Jim cleared his throat, looking for something to talk about that might ease her nerves. “So, uh. Speaking of Strickler. Did you know he was almost my step-dad?”

That definitely caught her attention and her eyes jumped to his in disbelief. “No way.”

“Really. He dated my mom a couple years ago. They met at a parent-teacher conference and just hit it off, I guess. Saw a lot of him outside of school after that.”

“Oh my god, that makes _so_ much sense why you’re his favorite. That had to have been weird.”

“It was at first, but. He made my mom happy, and things felt easier with him around. So I got over it.”

“So, what happened?”

Jim’s smile fell. “I’m still not totally sure. One day he just . . . broke it off. Told my mom he couldn’t continue, and he quit seeing her. To this day, he hasn’t told me why. And I was so mad at him for doing that—dashing my mom’s hopes, and leaving her alone _again . . .”_ He shook his head with a sigh. “She deserves more than men who walk out with no explanation. She deserves so much _more_ than that.”

“You sound very protective of your mom.”

“. . . I guess I am. She’s been through a lot, and I just . . .” His words caught in his throat—cold and sharp, like the blade of a knife. They came out hoarse. “I just don’t want her getting hurt anymore.”

Claire’s elbow gently nudged him, pulling him out of his troubled thoughts. “From what you’ve told me about your mom, she sounds amazing.”

Jim’s smile slowly returned, his mind floating back to the day before when she’d found him in the aftermath of his explosion and held him until he’d felt like a person again. All without prodding as to why. She was the anchor in his life and the strongest woman in the world. “You should meet her sometime. She’d love you.”

“That sounds nice,” she said, sounding distant. Her eyes fell. “And a hell of a lot more reasonable than _my_ parents.”

“Oh, come on. They seem—”

“Strict? Uncompromising? Authoritarian?”

“. . . I was gonna say very caring.”

 _“Please._ All my mom cares about is where she wants me to be in the future, but she forgot that the present also kinda matters. Between high school and my dual-credit, when am I supposed to find time to _live?_ Is it any wonder I have to sneak away to catch a break? And my dad just follows whatever she wants.” She rubbed at her face with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be complaining about my parents to you.”

He shrugged, not minding one bit—because even though he only had one parent, she was the most understanding parent he could ask for. “I thought you liked your college courses.”

“They’re alright. The work is easier, actually, but it’s a lot to keep track of. My parents were the ones who pushed me to do dual-credit so I’d spend less time in college. _I_ really wanted to keep the two experiences separate instead of mashing them together so I didn’t rush through the most social years of my life. I don’t even know what to major in.”

That surprised him. Claire seemed like the most sure person he knew, like she always had what she wanted in mind. “Then what are the courses for?”

“Just generals. I was hoping to figure it out later, but so far nothing’s really sticking out to me. I ask myself if I really want this, or is it all just an expectation that’s been drilled into me my whole life? Everything’s moving so fast, and I just feel kinda. . . trapped.”

Silence feel between them, punctured only by the sounds of their shoes crunching through fallen leaves and scattered twigs. He didn’t know what to say to any of that.

Thankfully, she wasn’t looking for an answer. “What about you? What do you want to go to college for?”

The question stuck in his mind and turned over and over and _over,_ because, hell, he’d hardly given it any thought, let alone entertained the idea. “I don’t even know if I’ll go to college.”

Her eyes had hardly stopped scanning the trees since they’d began, but that grabbed her full attention—which wasn’t that surprising, really, if college was an expectation growing up. His mom had been the same with him, but . . .

“When I was a little kid, I promised my mom I’d take care of her after Dad left. When I was old enough to learn how to use the stove, I made sure my mom never touched it again, for reasons unrelated. That’s how I picked up cooking, and I wanted to become a professional chef, like the ones on TV. Later, I became _obsessed_ with Vespas. Like, I could tell you each engine type used in every model since the 1940’s. I thought, man, I’d make an awesome mechanical engineer. Or at least a decent mechanic. And then high school started, and all I dreamed about was getting out of Arcadia and seeing what else the world had to offer.”

He fisted his hands in his pockets, eyes on the ground ahead and feeling Claire’s still on him. She didn’t say anything, waiting for him to continue. Waiting for the “but.”

Jim sighed heavily. “I stopped caring about Vespas last year. The interest just faded. I still cook, but I realized I only do it because I have to. My mom works so much, and if I don’t give her something to eat, she’ll forget. I’ve been taking care of my mom for so long that I can’t imagine myself doing anything else. I don’t know if I _can_ do anything else. Suddenly, the whole world is reduced to Arcadia, and now I get it. What’s the point of leaving? What’s the point of going to college? What’s the point of pretending I have a life anywhere but here, doing the only thing I know how to do?”

Claire didn’t respond immediately, no doubt having fun processing all of that. Maybe it was kind of stupid timing to be pouring his heart out while she was still dealing with a traumatic experience, but, once he’d began, he couldn’t seem to stop. They were thoughts he’d hung onto for a while now, but never put into words. Now that they’d been breathed into reality, it was surprisingly painful, and an ache throbbed in his chest. His vision was blurred and he realized his eyes had grown misty.

“Our problems are about as opposite as they can be from one another, and somehow, we’re sitting in the same boat,” Claire said after a moment. Her hand snaked around his, fingers intertwining. It was the first time she’d touched him that day. She glanced at him, a sad smile playing at her lips. “Growing up sucks, huh?”

He huffed out a laugh, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “I miss being driven to school.”

“I miss early bedtimes.”

“I miss being afraid of the basement.”

“I miss having recess.”

“I miss having sleepovers with Toby.”

She gave him a weird look. “There’s nothing stopping you from still doing that. I still have sleepovers with my friends.”

“Oh. Uh, actually, I _do_ still do that. It just doesn’t sound very cool. He always makes me stay up all night so we can play Minecraft together.”

Claire laughed—a real, genuine laugh. Something he was afraid he wouldn’t see again with what she was going through. He couldn’t peer into her mind, but at least he’d managed to pierce whatever turmoil was going on in there. At least for a moment.

“Didn’t plan on things getting so heavy today,” she said. “But I also didn’t expect to learn about Strickler’s commitment issues. You’re just full of surprises.”

“Only on a good day.”

They fell back into silence, but this was more comfortable. No longer tense with heavy emotions and masked frustrations, but a space filled with understanding and solidarity for uncertain futures. She shivered—which wasn’t unreasonable because she wasn’t wearing the warmest clothes. Probably hadn’t anticipated being outside so much today.

“You cold?” he asked, lips twitching up into a crooked smile.

She didn’t seem very impressed by it and rolled her eyes. “The forecast said it’d be warmer today.”

“We could go back.” Once again, she surprised him by refusing with a shake of her head. It made his brow crinkle, curious. “Okay, then. Uh, you can wear my jacket if you want.”

Now it was _her_ turn to smirk. “Then how are you going to keep hiding your new haircut?” Jim scowled, dropping his gaze to stare at his alternating feet as they kicked through leaves and grass and dirt. He could feel his face burning despite the cold air. She must have sensed his disgruntlement because he heard her say, “I’ll be fine. It’s not that cold out.”

Oh, fuck it. Jim unzipped his jacket and pulled it off, the chill immediately rushing in to greet him. He held it out and refused to put it back on, leaving her no choice but to take it.

“Won’t you be cold now?” Claire asked as she zipped it up.

Jim shook his head. He was wearing a long sleeve shirt, so it wasn’t that bad, but having his ears and the back of his neck so unprotected was definitely something he had yet to get used to, and their exposure to the air made him feel colder than he should. Not that he’d admit it, because what kind of loser wusses out after offering their coat? Besides, she looked good with it and he decided he liked it on her.

“So . . .” she began once their exchange was concluded. Her mouth was tight as she held back a smile. “Trying something new?”

Oh, where had he heard _that_ line before? She was awful. “Funny.”

“I think it looks really cute.”

“You’re _hilarious.”_

“Oh, come on. It’s nice. It’s different.”

“That’s what my mom said when she was trying to be polite about it."

“It _is_ different,” she said as she reached up to run her fingers through choppy locks—and he almost pulled away on reflex, but had enough sense to relax and let her do as she pleased. It felt nice, anyway. “But it’s not really _you,_ is it?”

Jim paused his trek, prompting her to do the same. “No,” he agreed quietly, feeling his frustration melt away because finally _someone_ agreed. “It isn’t me.”

Claire’s smile was enough to warm him from the inside out. She turned to continue, hand dropping from his hair, but he caught it and pulled her back until she was nearly flush with him. Her eyes were wide with surprise, and the longer she looked at him, standing so close he could feel her breaths, the more they narrowed with something else. He didn’t pay enough attention to determine what as he cupped her cheek and leaned in.

A hand pressed firmly against his chest before he closed the gap. Jim halted, glancing down at the obstructing limb before eyeing her questioningly. Her face was troubled, layered with emotions he couldn’t decipher. Gently, she pushed him back until he was at arm’s length, then retreated a step herself.

If not for noticing where they were, he would have asked her what was wrong. But it became quickly apparent as his eyes took in the battered trees, riddled with claw marks and horn gouges; at the lesions in the dirt; at the scorched patches of grass. His heart leapt into his throat.

“You said if I needed somebody to talk to, I could come to you,” Claire reminded him, gazing distantly at the evidence of a violent altercation. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone. I told Toby, and he probably thinks I’m crazy, but you . . . I know what I saw, Jim.”

Jim’s legs felt nonexistent, yet they moved all on their own as he drew up to a particular tree that’d had half its trunk blown out. His fingers brushed over what remained of the inside, branded with the black, zigzagging scars of lethal magic. A burnt smell still hung in the air—subtle, but it was enough to bring Jim back to his fight with Angor Rot.

“That story you told at the bonfire. It was true, wasn’t it?”

He swallowed hard, feeling his heartrate spike further and regretting having ever gone to that stupid party in the first place. Hand curling into a nervous fist, he turned back to face her—but he couldn’t meet her eyes. “It was just a story.”

“You’re lying.” She was shaking her head, staring at him incredulously. “You’ve been lying this entire time.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about—”

Claire marched up and grabbed his arm, shoving up the sleeve to brandish his scars. _“These_ aren’t from a bear. They’re from something _bigger._ A real, actual monster.”

Jim felt paralyzed as he stared at her. His hand shook in her grip. “You’re confused.”

“Why are you still hiding it? Look around you! What else could cause this?”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“And it matched your description perfectly. The horns, the teeth, the _eyes—”_

“Trolls aren’t _real!”_ Jim shouted, stumbling backwards, away from her prying questions. She watched him in shock as he fisted his hands into his hair and dragged them down his face, muttering, “They’re not real. They’re not _real.”_

He’d spent so long keeping them a secret. So _long._ It felt like an eternity since he’d discovered them himself—since learning of what would happen if humans _did_ find out. Arcadia destroyed, everyone _dead—_

Hands gripped his shoulders to steady his trembling form, then wrapped gently around his wrists to pry his arms away. Claire stood before him, face pinched with concern and regret. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, tenderly grabbing the sides of his head and drawing him down until their foreheads touched. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—Jim, I’m _so_ sorry.”

It was clear she didn’t understand the real reason why he was so upset, but her shooshing and quiet apologies helped calm him down regardless. He stopped quivering. His heartrate slowed. Finally, he exhaled—a long, defeated sigh, because it wasn’t something he could hide anymore.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he whispered. Claire’s brow drew together. He screwed his eyes shut. “Just trust me on this. You _can’t._ No one can know.”

“Why? You were almost killed. _I_ was almost killed—”

“They’re extremely dangerous. You saw what two of them can do to each other. Imagine what they could do to _people._ They need to be left alone, or it could get worse.”

Claire blinked, staring at him in confusion. Without warning, she shoved him away.

“I _never_ said there were two.”

Jim regained his footing and held up a placating hand. “Claire, wait—”

 _“How_ did you know there were two?”

“T-Toby told me—”

“I didn’t give Toby a number either.” She looked legitimately angry, maybe hurt, a little scared, and very distressed. That didn’t stop her from piecing it together. “You never went home after the bonfire.”

Jim took a step forward. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t _tell me_ what I know!” Claire screamed at him, backing further away. “Y-you, you . . .” She looked him up and down, studying his face, eyes flitting about as a million thoughts came and went through her mind.

Something like recognition slackened her features. Jim’s heart stopped beating in his chest. _“Wait—”_

She turned on her heel and ran, not sparing him another glance. He didn’t follow—because what the hell was the point? It’s not like he had any chance to fix this. Jim watched her disappear into the trees, knees so weak he nearly collapsed. The exploded tree halted his swaying as he leaned against it for support. He felt sick enough to vomit.

This couldn’t be happening.

* * *

Strickler glanced up upon hearing the gentle knocking at his office door. It was a little after school hours and most of the kids should have gone home already, so he expected another one of the teachers or administration to be on the other side.

He was startled once he pulled open the door. Startled—but no less joyed by the sudden visit. “Barbara,” he greeted pleasantly, unable to fight the smile that suddenly spread across his face. Not that he’d want to.

She returned it, though it didn’t reach her eyes. He wondered if the reason was because of _him . . ._ or because of her son. “Hello, Walt. I’m sorry that this is so sudden. I should have called—”

“Nonsense.” He opened the door further and gestured inside. “Please, come in.”

With a small nod, she stepped through the door and he closed it behind her before moving to lean on his desk. Barbara stood uncomfortably in the middle of the room with downcast eyes, and for a moment he wondered if this was a mistake.

“He’s getting worse,” she said quietly. Ah—so it _is_ about Jim, and the troubled look she wore tied a knot of concern in his chest tight enough to show on his face.

“How so?”

“He—” She had to take a breath before continuing. “He had a breakdown the other night.”

“I see. And . . . how _bad_ was it?”

Strickler watched her visibly swallow as she mustered up the will to force out her next words. “Bad,” she whispered. “He . . . shaved most of his hair off. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

 _Oh._ No wonder Jim had looked so mortified when he’d been asked to lower his hood. He was quite literally bearing the consequences of his mistakes. Poor boy.

“I hate it, honestly. I didn’t tell him that of course, but . . . he looks too much like his father that way, and I can hardly stand looking at him. I-I just can’t figure out why he’d be driven to do such a thing, just . . . does he hate himself? Is he trying to separate himself from—I just don’t _know,_ and I’m afraid to ask, like it might set him off again.”

Strickler pursed his lips in thought. “Jim appears to be under a lot of stress as of late. I believe the trauma he endured after his accident weighs far heavier on his mind than he admits, and this is quite obvious through recent actions. Perhaps this offered some relief. A way for him to feel in control.”

Barbara was silent for a moment. “I don’t know. He’s become so violent lately, and he practically destroyed the upstairs. I’m talking broken glass, holes in the walls, overturned furniture . . . I saw blood on the bathroom floor. Not a lot, but enough that . . . Walt, I’m terrified he’s _hurting_ himself—”

Her words had devolved into quivering breaths, accompanied by a few stubborn tears that refused to be held back. A shuddering sob escaped and Strickler immediately pushed from his desk to draw her in, feeling his heart break as she clutched at his suit. For her to embrace him so easily . . . her pain must be immense.

“Jim doesn’t seem like the type of kid to—”

“This isn’t the same Jim you’ve spent the last three years teaching, Walt. He’s not the same kid I raised. Something fundamental changed in him. I’ve been so blind . . . I shouldn’t have taken it so lightly. I just never imagined . . .”

“Barbara—”

“We got into an argument before he broke down and I just left. I told him the hospital called me. I lied to him. I just had to get out of the house, and . . . and I _abandoned_ him. I left when he needed help and I _wasn’t there for him—”_

His arms tightened around her. “You’ve done no such thing. You’re the one person who’s _always_ been there for him, but even you have your limits. You’re only human, Barbara. You can’t fault yourself for that.”

“I just—I just don’t know what to do. He’s still not sleeping, he’s staying out all night, coming home with bruises like he’s getting into fights—"

“Staying out all night? Where does he go?”

“He doesn’t tell me. I hardly see him anymore. I’ve tried asking Toby about it but it’s clear he’s not comfortable with sharing. I mean, what am I supposed to think? Is he mingling with bad crowds? Drinking? Doing drugs? He’s convinced there’s nothing I can do to help him, and I feel so helpless. Sometimes it’s like I’m talking to a different person, like he’s possessed.”

Strickler’s hold loosened. Gently, he pushed her back until he could see her face. “How did you say he destroyed the house again?”

Her reddened eyes were downcast, her skin tear-stained and splotchy. She wiped under her glasses and sniffed. “Some structural damage, most of which is easy to fix. Holes in the walls, a broken window . . . his door was nearly off its hinges. He did manage to knock over his dresser—I didn’t even think he was strong enough for that. And there were these big gashes in the hallway, like some animal had ripped into the drywall. I still don’t know how that happened. I didn’t ask because I was afraid it might set him off. Are you okay?”

It took him many seconds to realize she’d addressed him. Strickler blinked down at her. “I’m sorry. I just remembered I have to prepare the midterm exam. But that can wait—are _you_ going to be okay?”

Barbara sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I can only be as okay as Jim is. Are you still willing to keep an eye on him?”

A warm smile stretched his features. “Like a hawk.” She nodded, the tiniest hint of relief crossing her face. Strickler pushed her glasses aside and used his thumb to wipe away the shining streaks on her skin. “Do you know what I think? I think you could use a break.”

“A break?”

“That’s right. Please, try to find some time to relax. It’ll do you no good being stretched so thin. Let me take care of Jim for now.”

She scoffed, humor playing on her lips. “Now you’re sounding like him.”

“If there’s one thing your son does best, save for his talent in the kitchen, it’s care for his mother more than anything else.” Strickler opened the door for her, standing aside as she stepped through.

“Thank you, Walt,” she said, stopping and turning to face him. The smile on her face was grateful. Genuine. Something he hadn’t seen in some time. “It was . . . good seeing you again.”

Rough fingers gingerly embraced lither ones—ones textured by many, many years working in the chaos of a trauma center—as he drew her hand up to press a kiss to her knuckles. “We’ll figure this out. Somehow.”

His heart was heavy as he said it. The twinkle in her eyes said she believed him. With one last parting smile, she left. He gently closed the door.

It took all his will to convince his knees not to give out. Strickler sagged heavily on the door, a hand pressed tightly over his mouth as ragged breaths slipped through his fingers. This couldn’t be true. It _could not_ be true.

_It couldn’t be Jim._

The aggression, the restlessness, the confusion . . . it made sense. Janus help him, it made _so_ much sense. The boy had been hiding a living weapon under his skin this whole time. A sudden thought occurred to Strickler and he chuckled humorlessly, because _of course_ that’s why Angor Rot had failed to catch Claire. She had a troll guardian angel in the form of an infatuated teenager standing in her shadow at all times.

He felt like a fool. There were so many signs, and he’d missed them all . . .

An eclipse depicted by the Staff of Avalon for nearly two decades. Eighteen years, that veiled sun mocked Gunmar. The youngling with the band shirt in Trollmarket, the one in Blinkous’ company—that’d been _him._ It had to be. He was sitting right under the Underlord’s nose, and the Underlord didn’t even know it.

Clever boy.

Strickler straightened, gathering his will to calm himself. He cleared his throat and straightened his suit jacket, pressing a hand to his chest to feel his poor, human heart still pounding away. He swallowed hard as he fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed.

It rang only once before the front desk of the Museum of Arcadia answered. “Good evening. I’m looking for Ms. Nomura. May I speak with her?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao @ all those who thought barbara would figure it out. guess you'll have to take the double whammy instead
> 
> anyway sorry for taking so long to get this uploaded. turns out having four days off just made me lazy and want to play games with friends. believe me this was not a chapter i wanted to keep on hold. i still worked on it through last week but dialogue in excessive amounts can be tough to get right and it just took me forever to hit my stride. actually finished on tuesday but editing still took me two days. also my job is sucking me dry cause it's end of the year crap and project budgets are tighter so i'm putting in a lot of extra work and it's making me a little slower. promise it's not burnout, it's just all my energy is getting focused elsewhere right now. it'll ease up after christmas and then i can go back to promising updates on friday and actually uploading on saturday :D
> 
> since i have extra time for this next week i think i can get chapter 19 done in time (but you guys probably know not to trust me lol expect it for next weekend at least)


	19. Troll Patrol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weird things always happen at night, but Jim almost preferred them to the things that came with the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sup gamers happy eight-year anniversary of the world ending. i'm in ohio for christmas against my will and i'm probably gonna get covid but luckily it's offset by the based opinions i've been bearing witness to. if you don't have an evangelical aunt who watches youtube conspiracies you're seriously missing out
> 
> lol bet you guys didn't think i'd listen to your advice and take my time to balance my work life better but jokes on you i absolutely did and here i am two and a half weeks later with the next installment in my bullshit. it's kinda long so that's my christmas gift to u for being patient (not as long as ch. 16 but it's close yay)

“Toby, we’re just patrolling a little. Not going on a heist.”

His friend hit the brakes on his bike, skidding to a halt just beyond the alley he was standing in where they’d agreed to meet up. Toby was geared up like a Navy Seal and clothed in almost entirely black—black sweater, black track pants, black Gun Robot beanie cap—with the exception of his usual white tennis shoes (worn over black socks, naturally). “Does the word ‘covert’ mean nothing to you? I’m in stealth mode.”

“Really hate to break it to you, but if we actually run into a troll, they would have zero problem seeing you.”

“I have a natural talent for blending in. It’s one of my many charming traits.” Toby’s smile vanished as he peered into the alley, squinting through the thick shadows cast by the buildings from what little moonlight peeked through the clouds. A pair of black binoculars hung around his neck. “Where are you, anyway?”

Jim rolled his eyes and moved closer, stepping onto the sidewalk. Toby practically jumped in his seat and nearly fell off his bike. “Guess I blend in, too.”

“Almost forgot you were in troll mode,” Toby chuckled breathlessly, a hand to his chest. “Thought I was about to become a midnight snack.”

“Never too late.”

They started down the street, Toby lazily peddling as Jim ambled along beside him, his longer stride easily keeping pace. “You don’t . . . _actually_ have any desire to eat people, right?”

 _“No._ I was kidding. Only one type of troll really eats people.” His eyes dropped—because even now, he could feel the beginnings of his stomach growing angry from neglect. Maybe Toby would be willing to sacrifice his binoculars. “Although, I _am_ craving more meat these days.”

“Oh, perfect! Cause I brought tacos.” Toby gestured to the backpack he wore—also black. Jim didn’t even know he had a second backpack. “Thought we might get hungry on mission.”

“I know you brought tacos. I could smell them way before you even showed up. You’re going to lure every single magical thing within ten miles straight to us.”

“And then we’ll kick their magical butts! Well, _you’ll_ kick their magical butts. I’ll cheer you on from like, super far away.”

Jim smiled, appreciating the light-hearted chatter. He really needed it after today. “Thanks for, y’know. Coming out on such short notice.”

“Like I’m going to pass up an opportunity to play wingman to Arcadia’s Trollhunter. Man, I really need to come up with my own codename.”

In truth, he didn’t expect to run into anything tonight. Lockdown was still in place down in Trollmarket and there had been no sign of Angor Rot since Friday. He just needed some time to think, and a little company. Maybe if they were lucky, they’d run into a pair of burglars. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Why not? It’s fitting!”

“How is it fitting? My friends are trolls and I’m _part_ troll. You don’t see me dropping into Trollmarket to hunt down the local population.”

“No, but you _did_ hunt down that troll freak stalking Claire and then gave him a righteous beatdown.”

Hearing Claire’s name made something twist painfully in his chest. His ears flattened against his head, as if that would prevent him from hearing it again. “Claire knows,” he muttered quietly, almost a whisper.

Toby braked so hard his rear tire inched off the ground. “Did you _tell her?”_

Jim shook his head mournfully. “She didn’t say it outright, but . . . I’m pretty sure she figured it out.”

His friend was silent for a moment as he considered this. His eyes flicked to the bright graphics on Jim’s front, a slight tear splitting the band’s logo. “It was the shirt, wasn’t it?”

“The shirt’s just one stupid mistake out of a thousand. I pretty much handed her all the pieces to the puzzle along with a complimentary cheat sheet.” He dragged his hands down his face. “I’m _such_ an idiot. I never should have gotten so close to her. I mean, she’s smart as hell and probably would’ve figured it out eventually, anyway. Why didn’t I just keep my distance?”

“Uh, cause you’re a red-blooded male who’s super into her?”

“Yeah, well . . . after today, I don’t think she’s feeling a whole lot of the same.”

He resumed walking. After a moment, he heard Toby kick back onto his bike and follow. It wasn’t yet morning, but the hour was late, and Arcadia was as barren as a ghost town. Though there was little risk of being seen at this time, Jim still kept out of the light of the streetlamps, allowing his darker hue to melt into the shadows. The streets were quiet, with the only sound being the jingling of Toby’s bike chain and the slow, click-whirring of turning wheels.

“Are you doing okay?” Toby suddenly asked in a tone Jim wasn’t used to hearing from him—low, sad, and serious. It was enough to make him frown questioningly, but the concerned look on his friend’s face made him understand.

With a soft exhale, he shrugged. “Kinda got it out of my system. I’m doing better now.”

“I guess I never really thought about how hard this must actually be for you. I feel like such an ass.”

Jim huffed out a laugh through his nose. “Why, cause you made fun of my hair?”

“Well, yeah, actually. Because I didn’t stop to think _why_ you suddenly looked like one of my Nana’s cats after we shave the mats off.” By the guilty look on Toby’s face, it wasn’t meant to be a joke, but it made Jim spew air through his lips regardless as the mirth escaped him. “And like, all the other stuff. I mean, you’re living this whole other life I know so little about and I never stopped to think that, you know, maybe it kind of _sucks?”_

“Oh, yeah. Completely. But—” Jim shrugged. “Not everything is horrible. I’ve made some pretty awesome friends down in Trollmarket. I even managed to put this form to good use here and there.” He smiled at his friend.

Toby grinned back. “Yeah. You saved Claire’s life from a psycho troll. _And_ mine!”

“Well, Draal’s less of a psycho and more of just a big angry jerk.”

“Can’t believe you’re pals with that guy now.”

“He’s surprisingly nice when he’s not trying to crack skulls. Kinda like Steve.”

“Ugh,” Toby shuddered. “Could you imagine _Steve_ as a troll? Talk about dumb and ugly.”

“Speaking of dumb and ugly trolls—” Jim shifted his backpack off his shoulder and dug through it. His fingers closed around shaped iron. “—I have something I think you’ll like. I took it from Draal.”

Toby watched him with interest as he pulled out the unassuming object, crimson rust contrasting against his blue tone. Without another word, he smiled before twirling it in his grip and twisting the handle. His friend let out a shocked gasp as magic fire illuminated the area. “Awesome _sauce,”_ he breathed reverently, the warm light reflected in his wide eyes.

“Look, I’m not crazy about you following me around at night, but I’d at least feel a lot better if you had something to defend yourself with. So . . . here.” He held it out in offering, the flaming head reaching into the air. Toby shifted his feet excitedly, looking very much like he couldn’t believe it.

“This is mine?” he asked in a tiny voice, as if Jim was going to hit him with a _sike!_ at any moment. But when Jim nodded encouragingly, his fingers wiggled greedily as he slowly reached for the weapon’s hilt. Finally, he gripped iron, and Jim released it into his possession.

Immediately, it lurched forward and slammed into the ground hard enough to crack pavement. Toby blinked, surprised, and heaved, straining to lift it back up, his face turning red as he gave it his all. Oops, Jim thought. He hadn’t realized Toby’s strength might not be quite up to par for something like this.

He bent down and used his fingers to help lift it, startling Toby enough to make him stumble back a step. “Don’t worry! I think I got it now,” his friend promised him, not sounding totally confident but still looking determined. Jim drew his hand back and, to Toby’s credit, he managed to keep it airborne. “Yo, ho, ho! This is so sweet! Hey, is it just me or is this thing getting lighter?”

“That’s the cool part about it. The hammer’s cursed.” Toby instantly jumped away from the weapon, releasing the hilt so fast one might think it was on fire. Jim rolled his eyes as it gently floated to the ground.

“You’re trying to curse me?!”

“Not _that_ kind of cursed.” He grabbed the hammer’s middle and tossed it back at Toby, who scrambled to catch it. Partly to his horror, but mostly to his amusement, the hammer continued to rise into the air, taking Toby with it. He watched his friend kick his feet as they left the ground. “Its gravity magically switches,” Jim explained, pulling Toby back to earth and sitting him back onto his bike seat. “Supposedly on command.”

Toby glanced at the flaming head. “So, how do I command it?”

“I . . . don’t know. But I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

 _“What?_ Aren’t there like, instructions?”

“Man, I didn’t ask. Draal doesn’t even know I took it.”

Toby grinned. “You stole a magical warhammer from your giant troll buddy?”

“He was trying to make me kill a gnome with it!”

“Your life is just, _so_ exciting,” he sighed before catching himself. “In a really messed up way. But, still, super wild.” Then he gasped. “That’s it! That’s my codename! Warhammer!”

Jim eyed the warhammer glowing like a warm beacon in the cool night. “Very . . . creative. Honestly, I kind of liked it better when you kept calling yourself Sauron.”

“No, this is perfect! Trollhunter and Warhammer! The Guardians of Arcadia!” He gave the hammer a few confident swings, laughing as the flames roared through the air close enough to make Jim take half a step back. Then the hammer dropped like an anchor, taking Toby and his bike with it.

“Okay, Warhammer,” Jim droned, snatching the weapon from Toby’s hand and deactivating it before grabbing the back of his shirt and lifting him bodily into the air. Toby scrambled back onto his feet, sheepishly accepting the dormant hilt once he was steady. “No doubt Gunmar is quaking in his throne.”

“Yeah,” Toby mumbled as he stuck the hilt into his backpack’s pocket and remounted his bike. “Troll king _better_ watch out.”

It didn’t take long before he’d begun swinging it again, waving it back and forth while steadily cruising on his bike, showing off his skill of no handlebars he’d mastered only the year before. Jim watched him with idle amusement, and how he would quickly retract the weapon once it began to dip as the weight shifted. But the days’ events still weighed heavily on his mind and he quickly lost interest, moving his attention to his phone to stare longingly at the screen

After what happened in the woods, he’d tried texting her, begging her to respond. The last messages in the log were his own. Claire hadn’t spoken a word back. And as much as he was scared of what might happen if she decided to expose him and the rest of trollkind . . . he was really just dying to know what was going on in her mind. How she saw him now.

“You should talk to her,” came Toby’s voice, sudden enough to startle him out of his thoughts.

He sighed, shoving his phone out of sight. “I don’t think I can fix this.”

“It worked last time.”

“Claire didn’t know I was some whacked mutant troll hybrid thing last time.” No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t push the way she’d looked at him out of his head. One second, soft affection—then the next, icy dread. Like she’d just woken from a nightmare. Or, rather, _into_ a nightmare.

“Well, it’s not like you’re a different person than the one she knows.”

“No. Just less human than the one she knows.”

Toby was quiet for a moment. “Is that such a bad thing?” He swerved close enough to nudge Jim’s ribs with an elbow. “Come on, Jimbo. She really likes you. Do you seriously think being a troll is gonna change that?”

“Uh, I think it could be a bit of a dealbreaker for most normal people, yeah.”

“Listen, I talk to her sometimes, and you should hear some of the things she says about you—”

Jim’s eyes narrowed. “You talk to Claire about me behind my back?”

“Nothing bad! Obviously! And if it makes you feel any better, Darci and I talk about _both_ of you guys behind your backs—okay, just. Sometimes, you . . . do things that look weird to people who don’t know you’re a troll, which is literally everyone. But you’re also super cagey about it, so she likes to touch base once in a while to figure out what to do.”

“Oh.” Jim stared at his feet, near-silent on the pavement despite the scraping of stone skin. Swallowing got a lot harder all of a sudden.

“And since we’re on this topic, you should also know . . . your mom texts me about you too.” He veered away at Jim’s alarmed gaze. “Oh, come on, man! It’s not like I tell her anything! She just wants to know you’re okay, is all.”

Jim’s shoulders slumped. “I know,” he said softly. His eyes flicked up to take in the dark, abandoned street, flanked on both sides by sleeping businesses. Something moved on one of the rooftops—something small and black, coiled tight like a spring. He frowned as he squinted. “Do you see that?”

“See what?” Toby asked, oblivious. Jim grabbed his shoulder without looking and forced him to stop. He nodded in the direction of the tiny form. Toby mimicked him and narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Up on that roof. What is it?” Jim slowly prowled closer as Toby brought the binoculars to his face. He caught a flash of gleaming eyes, and for a second, he thought it was Douxie’s cat on its nightly prowl—

Until it leapt from the building and took flight as a small pair of wings unfurled from its body. It soared over the street and disappeared.

“Wh—did you see that?!”

“You know, these binoculars are more of a daytime thing,” Toby mumbled, pursing his lips. “Not really equipped for night.”

Jim gaped. “You _didn’t_ see that.”

“No. What did I not see?”

With an exasperated groan, Jim took off after the creature.

“Woah, dude! Wait up!”

He ignored him. A car rocked under his weight as he used it to launch himself higher. He hit the roof running, vaulting over the gaps between buildings as he chased. The flying creature drifted through the air for only a moment longer before dipping back towards the ground, vanishing from sight.

Jim landed back on the ground in a crouch, ears at attention as he scanned the darkness, looking for any sign of movement. But whatever it was, it was gone now. He couldn’t hear the flapping of wings anymore.

His ears flicked back just as Toby came barreling from behind, failing to brake before crashing into him hard enough to throw him off his bike. Jim hardly even flinched. He turned around to regard his grounded friend with annoyance.

“Oh my _god,_ you’re like a brick wall,” Toby wheezed from where he lay. His bike was next to him, the front wheel still quietly clicking as it spun.

“What is wrong with you?”

“You’re really hard to see in the dark sometimes!” Groaning, he pushed himself upright. “Seriously though, where’s the fire?”

“I saw something weird.” Jim held out his hand and lifted Toby to his feet when he took it.

Toby worked the kinks out of his shoulder before picking up his bike. “Like, troll weird?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t a troll, unless trolls can get that small. Or have wings. But it definitely wasn’t normal.”

“You sure it wasn’t a bat or something?”

“Bigger than a bat.”

“Okay. An owl.”

“I just said it definitely wasn’t normal!”

“Well _whatever_ it was, you scared it off, so. Good job.”

“Actually,” Jim began thoughtfully, “I’m not sure it even noticed me. I think it was looking for something.” A tiny pattering drew his attention to the nearby alley. He tensed, shifting in front of Toby just in case, but the sight of a miniature white beard and pointed red hat made him blink in confusion.

The little gnome ran up to them, chittering madly as it waved its arms and jumped up and down frantically. Toby gasped and recoiled in shock, but Jim only laughed in delight.

“Now how did you get out of Trollmarket?” he wondered aloud. Toby let out a battle cry and the warhammer roared to life as it came swinging down—only to be halted by Jim’s obstructing hand. “Okay, chill. It’s just a gnome.”

“That thing is freaking weird!”

“Everything in Trollmarket’s weird! You get used to it.” He glanced back down at the little creature. It stared up at him with beady eyes, its hands drawn tight against its body as it trembled. “Aw, look, he’s so scared. I wonder if that flying thing was trying to eat him—”

Thunderous bellowing made him jump and he dropped to all fours. When he looked up, he was greeted with the sight of a giant mass of metal charging out of the alley straight towards them. His first instinct was to shove Toby out of the way, and he did just that. Next, he grabbed the gnome and threw himself to the side just in time to avoid getting run over.

Jim rolled and landed in a crouch, moving the gnome from the safety of his chest to the ground as he took a proper look at this new threat. Ebony iron plates harshly shifted over one another as a hulking form moved underneath. Green fissures snaked across corroded armor. A pair of emerald-green eyes burned beneath a featureless helmet.

A Gumm Gumm soldier. But . . . what the hell was _it_ doing out of Trollmarket?

The soldier barked in Trollish at him, but he only knew enough to catch the words “whelp” and “Trollmarket.” And possibly a swear he’d heard Draal drop a couple times. When he didn’t answer, it grunted and shook its head angrily, making him flinch as the sharp sound of metal striking pavement rang from the butt of its spear.

“Uh, Jim? Little _help?”_ he heard Toby call to him. The soldier twisted around, also following his voice, and in doing so revealed Toby hovering some feet above the ground—and moving higher—as the hammer slowly climbed towards the sky. With a snort, the Gumm Gumm locked its attention on him instead and charged.

This had been a bad idea from the beginning.

The tip of a wicked spear raised as it drew closer. Toby yelped in terror and kicked his feet, desperately trying to will his warhammer to bring him back to earth, looking very much like a piñata about to be busted open. Red mingled with green as Jim threw himself against the Gumm Gumm hard enough to throw off its balance. It stumbled clumsily before its encumbering weight finally sent it crashing noisily into the street.

“Oh my god, what _is_ that?” Toby asked from where he hovered behind him. Jim stopped snarling at the armored beast long enough to grab his friend and lower him back to the ground.

“That’s one of Gunmar’s soldiers.” The scraping of metal on metal screamed through the air as the troll slowly pushed itself back to its feet, retrieving its spear with a sinister rumble. “They’re not supposed to leave Trollmarket.”

“Well, obviously this guy didn’t get the memo!”

It brandished its spear threateningly as it drew closer, the point aimed at Jim’s chest while he stood protectively in front of Toby. He bared his teeth and the red on his arms flared brighter. “Remember when I said a certain type of troll likes to eat people?”

“Um . . . yeah?”

“Well, this is one of them.” The gargled grunts coming from behind the mask sounded unnatural. Monstrous, even for a troll. “We have to get it out of Arcadia.”

With a roar, it charged. Jim ran to meet it head on before it could reach Toby and the gnome. He evaded the spear with ease but it came swinging back before he could get anywhere close, and he was forced to jump out of reach or risk getting skewered.

He wasn’t trying to fight. He didn’t _want_ to fight the huge and scary troll warrior for a lot of reasons, least of all because he’d probably get in trouble for it later. All he wanted to do was kite it out of town—but seeing a human had sent it into a rage and it seemed very determined to get at Toby. Probably not very thrilled about being discovered.

But since Jim refused to get out of the way no matter how many times it warned him, the spear came arcing again. At least the soldiers were huge. It made them incredibly slow. Jim ducked beneath the weapon and darted forward, swiping for its chest—

His claws glanced harmlessly off blackened iron. The next thing he knew, he was flat on the ground with stars exploding behind his eyes as an armored fist crushed him into the pavement.

Yeah, that definitely wasn’t going to work, he thought as his senses returned. He felt the soldier step over him as it moved in Toby’s direction, hearing his friend calling out to him in panic. With a growl, he pushed himself to his knees, vision swimming to the point of seeing double. This thing was covered head to foot in metal plating and there was no way Jim could manage any real damage with only his claws. He needed a new plan.

Shaking his head, he staggered to his feet and sprinted after the Gumm Gumm, leaping onto its back. It howled in rage and attempted to shake him off, but he dug his claws between armor plates and held fast. Its own girth made it impossible to grab and dislodge him, granting Jim free reign as he gripped the soldier’s horns and _twisted_ as hard as he could, steering it to the side.

The gnome scurried behind Toby’s shoe, watching with nervous, chattering teeth. Toby was still trying to get his warhammer under control as he strained to lift it back into the air, the head stubbornly refusing to leave the ground. “You need to get _away!”_ Jim screamed at him as the soldier bucked violently. “These things are seriously dangerous!”

“Just give me a sec! I can get it!”

Jim yelped as the soldier suddenly surged forward, charging at the closest building. Thankfully, Draal had taught him well, and he shifted his balance lower just before impact. Horns and face plates smashed into the wall, dust exploding from shattered brick, but Jim didn’t budge. The Gumm Gumm reared before plowing into a parked car in another attempt to throw him off.

It kicked and spun like an enraged bull, bellowing as it charged into countless structures, growing more furious with every second Jim spent latched on. But it was working—the soldier gradually made its way towards the end of the street, closer to the edge of town, guided by his hands aiming its horns.

Until the stupid thing tripped over its own clumsy feet and brought them both crashing to the pavement. Jim tumbled to a stop, taking a second to blink away the dizziness. His ear twitched as the impending sound of shifting metal alerted him and he glanced up in time to see the soldier already looming with its fists raised.

Thinking quickly, he pressed his hands to the ground and kicked his feet up as hard as he could just as the troll slammed its arms down. He flew right between them and it grunted as he struck its mask hard enough to send it stumbling back. It shook its head, eyes flashing angrily. The spear whipped in an arc over its head once before swinging at him, and Jim dropped to all fours to avoid having his head taken off. Glass exploded behind him as the weapon cut through a storefront window, showering him in shards.

At this rate, it was gonna wake up all of Arcadia and expose itself and the rest of trollkind—and that wasn’t even taking into account the extensive property damage. Jim thrust out his hands and stopped the shaft as it shoved his way, looking to pin him, but he wrapped his fingers tightly around forged iron and pushed back with a snarl.

The Gumm Gumm seemed surprised at his resistance. It pushed harder, and Jim felt his feet slipping over concrete. Even through its mask, he could smell foul breath, stinking of rot and decay. Its cat-like eyes burned like green suns, but they carried no heat—only a cold and lifeless hostility that filled him dread.

Something felt wrong about it. Jim braced himself and halted their stalemated dance, the red on his arms flashing as he growled and pulled as hard as he could, dragging the troll with him. The sudden shift in control upset the troll’s balance and Jim used the spear to swing it around before letting go.

An ear-splitting _crack!_ split the air as the stumbling soldier’s face connected with Toby’s waiting warhammer. The mask flew off and the troll dropped like a rock onto the street, dust settling around its body. Jim stared at Toby in shock, who shouldered his weapon with a prideful smile.

“Think I’m getting the hang of this,” he said. His triumph was short lived as the Gumm Gumm shuddered behind him, slowing clawing back to its feet. As it turned to face them, it suddenly became apparent to Jim exactly _why_ something felt wrong.

The troll’s face was almost entirely degraded. Its eyes sat in a pair of deep sockets surrounded by malformed features and atrophied stone, broken and mismatched teeth threatening to fall out. There was no lower jaw, as if it’d broken off, a gaping hole leading into abyssal darkness where a throat would be. A flapping tongue stubbornly clung to what was left of its mouth. No way Toby’s warhammer caused that much damage from a single swing.

Toby leapt back with a shriek, too petrified to defend himself. Its razor claws reached for him as a terrible gurgling sounded from its exposed throat. Without thinking, Jim lunged forward, sweeping up the discarded spear and thrusting it forward with all his strength.

The armor did nothing to stop the blade from cutting through like a hot knife. Stone split from the point of impact and fractures shot out like lightning bolts as the troll crumbled around the shaft, reduced to little more than a pile of rubble in the street. Its pained cry evaporated into the night.

Jim exhaled sharply—and if not for the death grip he held the spear in, his hands would be shaking. The red of his markings flickered as it suddenly occurred to him that he’d just killed.

“Holy shit. You killed a troll,” Toby breathed behind him, reinforcing that reality into his brain.

He stared at the loose chunks of stone still surrounding the spear. In so many pieces, the Gumm Gumm’s features had been rendered unrecognizable. “I don’t know if that was a troll,” Jim said numbly, voice quivering with fading adrenaline.

“Didn’t you say they’re in Trollmarket?”

“Yeah, but . . . I’ve never seen one with its mask off.” Jim pulled the spear from the rubble, causing half the pile to shift to one side as it settled. He’d never once managed to land a hit on Draal with a spear before. The long reach didn’t suit him. How thankful he was that that hadn’t been the case here. “These soldiers are supposed to be part of Gunmar’s horde. I thought they were just normal Gumm Gumms under all the armor, but it’s almost like they’re machines. Barely alive.”

“Angry troll king with a zombie army. This is starting to turn into one bad fantasy novel.” A small noise drew Toby’s attention down. At his feet stood the gnome, staring up at the pair of them as it muttered incomprehensible sounds. “Think we might have just saved this little guy’s life. Maybe they were trying to catch him and take him back underground? Like a contamination breath?”

“I don’t know. That would be like if the police hunted down a rat for breaking into the museum. I think he just got unlucky tonight.” Jim smiled as he knelt down and gingerly scooped up the gnome in his free hand. The gnome held onto its patience for approximately two seconds before biting his finger—not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to feel the pinch of pointed teeth. He yelped and recoiled, the little creature hopping back onto the ground and scurrying up Toby’s leg instead.

“Ew, oh my god, get it off!” Toby exclaimed as he hopped around in a panic, desperately trying to reach back and swat the gnome off his backpack. Jim reached out and pressed down on his shoulder, forcing him to still.

“Relax. Looks like he just wants your tacos,” he nodded at the gnome, who was trying—and failing—to pull apart the zipped opening that obstructed the food within. “Be grateful it’s just a gnome you managed to attract, minus the giant killer troll zombie.”

“What if he bites me too? How can so many teeth fit inside such a little mouth?!”

“I think he just doesn’t like me. Which is fair, since Draal did try to get me to smush him with the warhammer. But if you give him one of your tacos, he might at least like _you.”_

He seemed very conflicted about the idea of offering any of his stash to some mischievous little creature, lest it keep coming back for more, but after a moment of consideration, he sighed. _“Ugh._ I guess. Whatever. But it’s coming out of your half.”

That was more than fine. Jim wasn’t sure Toby quite understood how troll diets worked yet, but he didn’t bother reminding him that he probably couldn’t stomach tacos anyway. For all he cared, the gnome could have _all_ of his half. Toby slipped off the bag, taking the gnome with it, and brought it around to unzip the pouch.

Sinister grunts and growls echoed through the air. All three snapped their attention to the end of the street, where two black, hulking forms ambled ever closer, brandishing spears identical to the one Jim still held in his grip. Their eyes burned like emerald beacons in the dark.

“Um,” Toby stammered nervously. “Would have been nice if your gnome buddy said something about the troll zombie bringing friends.”

The breath went cold in Jim’s lungs. Instinctively, he gripped the spear tighter, knowing it was their only reliable defense against these monsters. But he wasn’t talented at using it by any means and he definitely wasn’t confident in his chances of winning.

“I don’t know if I can take on two of them,” he said, feeling more fear than anything. His markings were dormant, reflecting his uncertainty. The Gumm Gumms eyed him murderously, no doubt looking to avenge their fallen comrade, who lay in pieces behind the boys.

Toby stepped forward, hilt in hand. “Then let’s even the odds,” he grinned, sounding much more scared than he tried pretending to be. With a twist of his wrist, the hammer materialized, hot and ready for a fight—until it dropped like an anchor to the pavement.

 _“No,_ Toby. You need to run.”

“We’re a team, man! I’m not leaving you—”

_“Toby—"_

Burbling snarls pulled his eyes back to the soldiers. One lowered its head, aiming its horns at him, readying to charge. Could they outrun them? Jim could probably escape on the rooftops, but would Toby be able to move fast enough on his bike? Could Toby even _make_ it to his bike in time? He wasn’t going to have a choice but to fight them, at least to buy time—

The first soldier took another step and paused. It glanced down in confusion. Something shimmered beneath its foot—a vivid cerulean blue sparking from the point of contact before tracing invisible lines through the street. Then the light flared, blindingly bright.

And brought with it the _loudest_ sound Jim had ever heard in his life.

It was like a thousand people screaming in his ears all at once. Covering them did nothing. The sound clawed its way into his head, ringing like a gong inside his brain, rattling his skull so intensely, so _deep,_ his legs gave out, and he dropped to the ground in agony. An eternity passed before it finally stopped. Or, at least, that’s what it felt like. The ringing from the sudden silence was almost worse than the noise had been and Jim curled in on himself with a moan as his ears throbbed painfully. He was almost too afraid to pull his hands away.

Something waded through the ringing. It sounded far away, under water—but it also sounded like a voice. Cautiously, Jim unscrewed his eyes, the ache in his jaw also telling him to unclench his teeth. He heard it again and looked up to find Toby standing over him, face tight with worry. When his mouth moved, that distant voice sounded with it.

“What?” Jim asked, his own voice struggling through the ringing. He couldn’t hear a damn thing. Honestly, he was amazed his eardrums hadn’t completely exploded after that. Toby pointed and Jim followed the gesture in time to see the Gumm Gumms clawing at their heads in distress, spears forgotten on the ground as they writhed. As the ringing in his ears subsided, he could make out their tormented cries.

They turned and ran the way they came, stumbling on unsteady feet as they fled. Then they disappeared into the trees.

With a groan and a hand to his pounding head, Jim climbed to his feet on shaky legs. Toby reached out to steady him. “You okay, dude?” he asked, his voice growing clearer. “What was that?”

“I . . . have no idea,” Jim admitted. Toby winced and he realized he must be speaking a lot louder than intended. He cleared his throat and muttered a quieter, “Sorry.”

“That was crazy, though. There was like, this big flash of light, and then this loud noise, and then the trolls flipped out and ran away!”

“Wait. You heard it too?”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t that bad. I’ve been to school dances that were louder.”

Jim frowned, a little envious. “And we’re back to how being part troll sucks.” Shaking his head to rid himself of the lingering whistle in his ears, he approached where the soldiers had been only moments before. Their spears lay abandoned in the street. He’d have to remove those before morning.

Something like static tickled the bottom of his foot, making him pause before taking the full step. He glanced down and, for a second, was convinced there was nothing there—but as he peered closer, he noticed a series of faint lines drawn on the pavement. And his foot was hovering just inside the border. He pulled it back immediately and the feeling disappeared.

Whatever it was seemed to react to proximity. As he looked further, he realized there were all manner of shapes and lines and strange markings, all contained in one big circle that ran the entire width of the street. They had to be the source of the blue light, and the Gumm Gumm had activated it by stepping into the circle, was Jim’s theory.

And apparently, whatever it was, it was designed to make the absolute worse noise ever to specifically screw over trolls.

“What is this? Some kind of weird street art?” Toby asked behind him. “Or like, discount crop circle?”

“How in any way does this resemble a crop circle? No, I’ve . . . I’ve seen something like this before. Down in Trollmarket. They’re etched into enchanted weapons. In some books, too.”

“So, like magic?”

“Yeah. Runes, I think. And this one’s really big.”

“Wait, actually—I’ve seen something like this before.” Toby pulled out his phone. “On Eli’s blog. That’s why my brain instantly jumped to ‘crop circle.’ People think they’re signs of alien activity. Ridiculous, right? Check it out.”

Jim took the offered device and peered at the screen. True to Toby’s word, there were a couple images of similar designs, all bound within circles. Some were harder to see than others, as if they’d been there for long periods of time and faded, similar to the one before them now. But it was no mistaking they must all be from the same source, whatever that was.

“They’re all across town,” he mused thoughtfully. “Super spread out. Look—this was taken on the north side. And this one’s over by the salvage yard.”

“What’re they doing all the way up here? Why would trolls want to put magic circles in Arcadia?”

Jim handed the phone back and lowered onto his haunches as he studied the lines. “I don’t think a troll made this. Why would a troll make something that cripples trolls?”

“Well, who else can make these?”

He thought back to Blinky’s story, about the war that happened centuries ago. Humans with magical gifts had been the greatest enemy to trollkind. But without Merlin, did they even still exist? Or were they wiped out following their master’s death? “I don’t know. But I’m not sure I feel good about it.”

He heard Toby stretch. “Well, as long as it scared those freaks away. Gnome, wait, _no—”_

The gnome suddenly zipped out of nowhere, running into the center of the rune. Jim flinched and brace himself . . . but nothing happened. The little creature threw up its hands with a triumphant grin.

Toby hummed thoughtfully. “Do you think it’s on cooldown?” Without waiting for an answer, he slowly stepped over the boundary line until he was completely inside. Again, it didn’t activate. “Okay! I think we’re cool. It’s safe, Jimbo.”

Jim bit his lip nervously and inched his toe closer to the border. He could feel that faint brush of static on his skin and withdrew. “Maybe it only works on trolls. I’m not risking it.” His friend shrugged before walking over to grab the gnome and retreat back to the outside.

“So, what’s the plan now?”

“The plan for me is to make sure there’s no other horde soldiers wandering around. The plan for _you_ is to go home. It’s a school night.”

“Big deal. I’ll nap in gym. I want to see if we can find any more of these troll traps!” At Jim’s unhappy stare, he shrugged timidly. “You know, for future reference. Might not be a bad idea to memorize where they are in case more of those zombie guys show up.”

Well, hard to argue with that. He really wasn’t thrilled about Toby insisting on staying, especially after such a close call—but, honestly, he was just so tired of being alone. “Alright, fine. Not a bad idea. I guess Warhammer can stick around a little longer.”

Toby pumped his fist excitedly. Even the gnome, who was still perched on his backpack, sounded elated by the decision. Jim would have to remember to take him back to Trollmarket so he didn’t get into any more trouble. He was probably safer there, anyway—less rogue Gumm Gumms and flying creatures to make a quick meal of him. But for the time being, Jim would let it slide.

And he tried his best not to think about how school was going to be with Claire sitting six feet away.

* * *

Jim was surprised to find his jacket laying on his desk.

He’d almost completely forgotten Claire hadn’t given it back the day before, having been so caught up in her distress to bother remembering. She, on the other hand, was nowhere in sight, likely having fled back to the safety of the crowded halls. It was still early, after all, and few students were present in the classroom as they waited for the final bell to signal the first lesson of the day.

His fingers curled in the fabric and lifted it from his desk before slowly pulling it on, mind elsewhere as he recalled the scared and confused look in her eyes. He didn’t bother with the hood this time, as Toby had lent him his hat upon request, which was definitely not his style and even felt a little uncomfortable. Aside from the stupid Gun Robot mascot on the front, it made his ears itchy. But it was better than looking like he was about to hold up a corner store.

The door opened. Jim turned to see Toby dragging his feet and looking seconds away from passing out. Honestly, Jim was impressed he’d managed to beat the crowd in his fatigued state. The other students began filing in shortly after him. “Speaking of magic and trolls,” Toby muttered tiredly as he set his bag next to his desk and sat down, “were you planning on patrolling again tonight? You know, just in case more of those freaky zombie guys show up?”

Jim flinched and beckoned with his hand for Toby to lower his voice. “Maybe. I haven’t decided yet. Not sure we’re gonna be seeing those guys again any time soon after that. Might just go talk to Blinky and see if he knows what’s up.”

Thankfully, the Gumm Gumms from the night before had completely disappeared following their encounter. Jim had tracked them for an hour with Toby at his back before giving up and determining they’d probably retreated back to Trollmarket. They’d found no signs of any others wandering the surface, either.

The runes, on the other hand, were a different story. They’d discovered several around town—even some that weren’t documented on Eli’s blog—and they all produced different forms of deterrents: one pulsed like a blinding strobe light; another burst into flames; one released such a foul smell Jim had nearly vomited on the spot. But the one consistency was that only Jim could trigger a reaction.

Whatever had made them was definitely not fond of trolls in Arcadia.

Toby yawned. “Okay. Just let me know.”

“You do realize you don’t have to come?”

“No way, man! Can’t let my bro go off without his sidekick. But . . . might take a nap beforehand.”

“I told you to leave earlier so you weren’t so tired at school.”

“’M not tired,” he mumbled as he laid his head down on his desk. Jim rolled his eyes and sighed, crossing his arms as he leaned on his desk. Toby could barely control his warhammer when he was lucid—he definitely wasn’t about to let him come in _this_ state. “Also, thanks for warning me that the gnome might still be in my backpack!”

Oh, no. Jim had completely forgotten about the gnome. It had burrowed itself in Toby’s bag to devour the remaining tacos and promptly fell asleep. “Did you . . . _take_ him home?”

“Not on purpose, obviously! But, yeah, he should still be in my room. Little punk snatched my wallet this morning. Had to lock him up so he didn’t nab my social, too. Not super down with having a sentient lawn ornament steal my identity.”

“They’re kleptomaniacs by nature, so whatever you do, _don’t_ let him run around unsupervised. I’ll figure out what to do with him later.”

Toby hummed thoughtfully. “Wonder if I can get a leash on him. A muzzle might not be a bad idea, either.”

The familiar sound of girlish giggling alerted Jim to whom had just entered the classroom, and he broke his focus away from Toby to see Mary and Darci engaged in their usual banter. Claire, on the other hand, trailed behind, completely disengaged from their conversation as she blindly followed them in, seemingly caught up in her own thoughts.

She must have felt him staring because she looked up a second later and froze in the doorway. Her friends didn’t seem to notice and continued to their seats, as carefree as always. Jim rigidly held her gaze, suddenly too afraid to move. By the startled look in her eyes, she felt similarly.

But the longer she stared, the bolder she got, and her brow gradually crinkled as she glowered. He wanted nothing more than the chance to explain himself, but words felt trapped in his throat, leaving him petrified like a deer in headlights. Finally, she dropped her gaze to the floor and walked briskly to her seat, refusing to grace him with any more of her attention.

This was going to be really hard.

“Sup, Jimmy-Jam,” Mary greeted him on her way to her desk. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a hat before. Not a bad look.”

“Yeah, uh. Don’t get used to it,” he chuckled weakly, the humor like acid in his mouth. Neither of the girls behaved any differently towards him, which must mean that Claire hadn’t told them anything yet. But what was holding her back?

He sat down, eyeing her curiously. She didn’t turn around.

Mr. Strickler walked in and took his place in front of his desk, arms crossed as he gazed at the arrangement of students before him. “And how are we this fine Tuesday morning?”

The class collectively groaned, which was the typical response to such questions. Toby already looked like he’d fallen asleep.

“Good to see you all awake and alert. Perhaps we can find something suitably engaging.” He shut off the room’s light and flipped on the projector to display the beginnings of a slideshow. The picture made Jim sit up a little straighter. “Excalibur. The Green Knight. The Holy Grail. Do any of these things sound familiar?”

“Aren’t those elements from the Arthurian legend?” Eli asked with a quick spring of his hand. Steve whispered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like _“nerd.”_

Mr. Strickler nodded with a smile. “Very good.”

The image on the projector was an illustrated depiction of a decorated king pulling a blade free from a boulder. Jim’s mind immediately went back to that night in his room, only days ago, when Merlin had spoken to him. The emblematic sword in a stone burned behind his eyes. His back pocket felt uncomfortably empty.

“The legends of King Arthur are some of the most famous stories ever told, sitting somewhere between the Bible and _Star Wars.”_ He flipped to the next slide. This one showed another version of that same king flanked by a league of knights, all with their swords drawn over a round table.

Darci was next to raise her hand. “Isn’t it just myth? What does it have to do with history?”

“A wonderful question. Everyone’s heard some version or spin of these tales. It’s practically impossible to live your life without encountering at least one of the fabled characters in media. This legend has become so greatly woven into our modern culture of storytelling to the point of being unavoidable. But what you may not know—” Next slide. Another decorated king battling a huge fire-breathing dragon. “—is that this grand work of fiction is said to be inspired by real historical events. Can anyone tell me which ones?”

The classroom was silent. Mr. Strickler gazed at his students patiently, allowing the opportunity for any brave and knowing soul to step up. Despite his question going unanswered, he smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I’ve arranged a little project,” he announced. “Something to keep your minds busy through the week. I want you to try and discover which events inspired which stories.”

Shannon raised his hand. “Is this gonna be on the midterm?”

“No. Consider this a small break from your usual studies. I don’t need concrete fact of a story’s origin, but I would like to see fair work put into investigating, preferably without the internet immediately giving you the answer. The museum would be a good place to start.”

Jim patted Toby’s elbow. Toby, who was just shy of drooling on his desk, cracked one annoyed eye open and glared at him. He leaned closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “What are the odds of _this_ crap suddenly popping up?”

Toby snorted, unfazed. “Your life is like some young adult fantasy epic and this is what weirds you out?”

He didn’t like it. Somehow, some _way,_ he felt like Merlin had something to do with this. To prod him into reconsidering. Into finding that cursed amulet again so the crooked wizard could continue to goad him into committing a war crime. And right on cue, Mr. Strickler switched to the next slide, revealing a faded painting of a magician wearing a pointed hat. Yeah, Jim _definitely_ preferred that depiction. Made the old man look less like an asshole and more like a children’s birthday party entertainer.

“One other thing,” Mr. Strickler continued. “You’ll be working in pairs, and I’ve already chosen your partners.”

The collective groan at the beginning of class didn’t hold a candle to this one. Nothing sparked despair like teacher-assigned group members, particularly in twos. At least larger groups had a higher chance of getting a single diligent member looking to take the lead, but if one was unfortunate to get saddled with someone like Steve in a two-man team, they were due for a heavy back. Everyone knew this.

Their teacher listed off two names at a time with seemingly no pattern to it. Some kids high-fived as they got paired with their friends. Others tried to hide their irritation or disappointment at being paired with someone who wouldn’t shoulder the entire load for them.

“Darci, you’ll be paired with Toby.”

Toby shot upright, an enthusiasm absent just seconds before now front and center. “All right! I can dig that,” he grinned, reaching over to give the girl a fist bump. Darci returned it somewhat hesitantly.

“You’re not gonna goof off the whole time, are you?” she asked.

“What, me?” Toby scoffed. “I have a learned mind for historical fantasy. Plus, I’m something of a wizard when it comes to wooing the museum curator.”

Jim rolled his eyes hard enough that his head followed the movement. He lets Toby tag along for a couple night outings and suddenly the dude was an expert on all things magical.

“Jim, you’ll be partners with Claire.”

His heart stopped. Instantly, his gaze snapped to find her already staring at him, equally as shocked. There wasn’t the barest hint of happiness on her face at the fact.

“And Steve. You get young Eli here.”

 _“What?!”_ both boys cried simultaneously. Steve glared at the smaller boy, making Eli cower away on instinct. Honestly, Steve shouldn’t complain. He just won the lottery for earning a passing grade sitting on his ass. Eli, on the other hand . . . yeah. Jim felt sympathy for the poor kid.

“Are we all aware of who we’re partnered with? Yes? Very well. Now, some specifics on what I’m looking for in this project . . .”

All noise melted away, drowned out by the deafening rhythm of a thundering heartbeat. Jim felt horrible. The last thing he wanted was make Claire even more uncomfortable after everything, and now she was being forced into his company for the sake of an assignment.

And, if he were being honest, he wasn’t sure he had the stomach for it either.

She didn’t look his way the remainder of class, her head resting on a hand to block his view entirely. But he could see how she fidgeted—the bouncing of her knee and the nervous tapping of fingernails on a blank notebook. What he wouldn’t give for a brief peek into her mind so he could sample her thoughts. How scared was she really?

Finally, the bell rang. After an eternity and a half.

The students quickly filed out of the classroom. Jim stood up, bag already secured over his shoulder—but when he looked over, Claire was already gone. He felt sick. Toby glanced at him with subdued worry.

“She’ll come around,” he assured quietly. Jim wanted to believe him, but he wasn’t sure. Toby didn’t look so sure himself, either.

Together, they headed for the door—but Jim paused. He waved Toby out. “I’ll catch up,” he promised. Toby frowned curiously but shrugged and left, heading for his locker to prepare for the next period. Jim, now the last one remaining, made his way to Mr. Strickler’s desk.

“Got a minute?” he asked. The man looked up, seemingly surprised he hadn’t left yet.

“Always,” Mr. Strickler replied as he set down the book he’d been flipping through. “What’s on your mind?”

“What, um. What made you want to do Arthurian stuff all of a sudden?”

With a nod, the man spun the book on the desk until the title faced Jim. “I stumbled across this copy of T. H. White’s _The Once and Future King_ in the library and felt inspired. But that’s not what you came to speak to me about, is it?”

Jim stared at the floor. When he spoke, his voice was low and quiet. “Why’d you partner me with Claire?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” the man smiled wryly. It slowly vanished once he realized Jim wasn’t matching his enthusiasm.

“I don’t think we should be partners.”

“Now I’m confused. Here I thought I was—oh, what do you kids say—doing you a ‘solid?’”

“Look, I . . . really don’t think she wants to be around me right now.”

His teacher didn’t respond. A single eyebrow cocked higher, just slightly, waiting for him to elaborate. When he failed to do so, Mr. Strickler’s head inclined as he prompted him further. “Did you do something unsavory?”

“I think I just—I don’t know. I think I scared her, and now I’m not sure she trusts me anymore.”

Mr. Strickler’s brow rose higher. “You know, it did not escape my notice that you missed detention yesterday, nor that Ms. Nuñez failed to show for rehearsal.”

Jim suddenly got the feeling his vagueness was far more implicative than he intended, not to mention incredibly compromising given recent events, and that he and his teacher were on two _totally_ different pages. “No, no no no no no. Not what you think.”

“Truly?”

“Promise it’s not—” He bit back the flurry of explanations that wanted to escape. He’d only dig his hole deeper. “I just think we’d be better off with different partners this time.”

The man gave a deep, weary sigh. “You’ve made quite a habit of running away.”

“What?”

“Your problems. Your mother. Now Claire. Your first instinct at every tricky obstacle is to hide and hope for a solution to magically present itself, or for it all to somehow disappear. I know you possess courage, so why are you so afraid?”

There were a million reasons he couldn’t express. He didn’t want to cause worry. He didn’t want to be seen as a monster. He didn’t want them to get hurt.

He didn’t want to lose anyone else.

The words couldn’t force their way through the tightness in his throat. Thankfully, and even mercifully, Mr. Strickler seemed to understand his fears. “I am willing to switch your partners if you desire it, but Claire’s a smart girl. Far too clever for her judgment to be shrouded by a simple mistake, and if you truly mean well, she’ll see that. Perhaps you should try talking to her before making any decisions you may grow to regret?”

Jim stared at his shoes, uncertainty running through his mind. Finally, he looked up and gave a short nod. “Maye you’re right,” he said hoarsely.

Mr. Strickler smiled. He pointed his chin at the door. “Now run along before you’re late for your next class. Oh, and Jim—”

He paused on his way to the door to glance over his shoulder. The man’s expression had darkened, the amusement and good nature gone as he watched him with hard eyes.

“I cannot simply allow you to shirk your commitments for the sake of cavorting with a classmate. Rest assured, your truancy will not go unpunished.”

Jim shrugged, too drained to care. “Extend my sentence then.”

“I’ve a better idea,” he said, a calculative glint in his eye. “I’m freeing you of your duties. You’re no longer required to assist Ms. Janeth after school.”

That was . . . _definitely_ not what Jim had been expecting. He shook his head in disbelief. “Seriously? Just like that?”

“This is not a reward. I’m merely changing what I want from you. For now, you may continue your usual routine, but I will require something of you in the future. A favor, perhaps. And for this, you will comply, understand?”

To finally have his afternoons back, Jim would do anything for the man. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want.”

Mr. Strickler’s smile grew, pleased with his answer. With a thoughtful hum, he returned his attention to the book on his desk. “Mind your back, Young Atlas.”

With that, he was dismissed. Jim left the classroom and joined his swarming peers in the halls, still reeling.

The rest of his day was spent sweating over how he was going to approach Claire. _Should_ he even approach her? Maybe it was best to give her space for a little while and let her process. But what if she ultimately decides to spill her secrets to someone? What if she never wanted to speak to him again, period?

Fortunately, this little problem unexpectedly solved itself.

Jim slammed his locker door shut and nearly jumped when it revealed Claire standing right next to him with her arms crossed. She didn’t look terribly thrilled to be there, and he was shocked she was present at all.

“Any plans?” she asked curtly. It took him a long moment to register what she was asking.

“Uh. Not today.”

She nodded. “Great. Come to the museum with me?”

He was utterly lost. “The . . . museum?”

“For Strickler’s project? Might as well get a jump start on it.” Claire pushed off the lockers and headed for the parking lot, not sparing him a second glance. Jim realized he wasn’t breathing and inhaled sharply before stumbling after her, shoving the last of his homework into his bag as he weaved through the river of students unleashed by the ringing of the final bell.

The walk to her car was unbearably tense and stiff. Jim kept a few respectful paces behind, unwilling to taint the familiarity that was being at her side. She wasn’t willing to look at him, anyway. Or speak. Claire didn’t say a word to him when they got in, nor when they pulled out of the lot to head for the museum.

The silence was slowly killing him on the inside. “Can we talk?” he dared to ask, his voice timid and small.

She scoffed—a humorless quirk of her lips. “Oh, _now_ you want to talk. That’s funny.”

“Claire—”

“Just _shut up,”_ she hissed, her grip tightening further on the wheel, if that was even possible. “Shut up. Not here, okay?”

He did exactly as she requested. It was stupid to bring it up while she was confined to a tight space with him. Talking now would just make her feel trapped. So, Jim resigned himself to an unbearably quiet ride the rest of the way to the museum.

Thank Christ it wasn’t very far from school.

It was confounding that she was not only willing to work with him on this, but so quickly after everything. Not only that, but being the one to initiate. He was still trying to wrap his head around it by the time the car pulled in and they made their way across the parking lot. The museum was one of the oldest buildings in Arcadia, and its grand dome loomed in the sky, serving as the highest point in town. Its shadow swallowed them on their way to the entrance.

Jim had hardly visited the place, save for class fieldtrips or when otherwise required by school, like now. One thing that never changed was the building’s low occupancy, and upon stepping inside, he noticed a couple pairs of his classmates scattered about, present for the same reason they were.

Even Steve was here. Somehow, Eli had managed to drag him all the way from school to get a head start on their assignment. The boys argued from across the room, gesturing furiously at the mounted swords on the wall. Steve bumped one with his elbow and stumbled to catch it before it hit the floor, nearly knocking over Eli in the process.

“Where do you, uh. Want to start?” Jim asked awkwardly.

Claire didn’t turn around to answer him. “I don’t know. I don’t get what a history museum has to do with the Arthurian legend. It’s all fiction.” A pause—and then she snuck a cold glance over her shoulder. “Unless you know something I don’t?”

He flinched. Technically, he did, because apparently at least some of those details were real. Merlin, the kingdom of Camelot . . . all real elements lost in the mud of history. But it was only meant as a jab. She didn’t really expect him to know anything, and it wouldn’t help here anyway. “Maybe we could . . . pull up some of the stories. Use that to compare with the things here.”

She hummed, not really paying attention, before wandering in a seemingly random direction. Jim had no choice but to follow—but where they were going or what their plan was, he didn’t know. He idly gazed at old paintings on the wall and glass-encased relics as they passed them. Nothing exactly screamed “originated from a legendary kingdom.” Claire was right—it _was_ kind of weird attending a history museum to learn about a legend.

And Claire didn’t seem to be very focused on any of it. Her eyes drifted across the displays, but they were distant. Lost in her own mind, unseeing. Their pace slowed as her legs failed to carry her much further, and eventually, they stopped altogether. Eyes downcast, she stared at the floor. Jim wasn’t sure what to do.

The words that breathed from her lips were so quiet, he nearly missed it. “You’re one of them.”

It was out of nowhere. Even without context, he knew what she meant, and it felt like a punch to the chest. It was an understanding she’d been carrying for twenty-four hours and she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Jim stepped closer, trying to find her eyes. “That’s not true,” he said, only finding his voice through a quivering whisper. He watched her brow pinch together in a deep frown. She still didn’t look at him.

“It doesn’t seem possible,” she murmured with a shake of her head, “but it makes _so_ much sense. The excuses to leave before dark. How weird you’ve been acting these past months. And you’ve been hiding it this whole time.”

“You don’t understand.”

Her eyes—angry and bloodshot and dangerously close to shedding tears—found his so quickly he took a half-step back. “You don’t get to tell me what I don’t understand. I don’t understand _you.”_

His immediate instinct was to argue and prove her wrong, that he _wasn’t_ what she thought he was—but that was only because he’d been denying it at every opportunity for so long. Claire was not one to have her mind easily swayed once it was made up. To tell her otherwise would only hurt her further.

But his tongue was tangled, and his mind was in pieces. Admitting the truth was still impossible.

“I thought I was going crazy,” she laughed, not a trace of humor in the sound. “Almost like it hadn’t happened at all. And then you pretending like nothing was wrong . . . I mean, how many of these fucking things wear Papa Skull merch?” Her voice cracked, hitching. “Only one thing convinced me that I hadn’t imagined it. That I _wasn’t_ crazy.”

Claire reached into her purse. Jim was frozen solid as he watched her pull out something from her purse—something small, curved, and tubular, no longer than the length of her forearm. It took him a moment for the recognition to click, and when it did, his heart stuttered in his chest.

He remembered the iron object from where it’d rested in the clutches of Angor Rot’s gnarled fingers, serving as the grip for that terrible staff. But . . . where was the rest of it?

She gestured at him with the grip and he tensed instinctively, the vicious magic it had spewed still branded into his mind. “You recognize it, don’t you? Thought you would.”

Jim tried to calm his breathing. His heart was a maelstrom in his chest. “Claire, _please—”_

“I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I just see . . . And so, I stay up all night staring at this instead, because it’s the only thing keeping me from going insane. It’s the only thing I know to be a fact, because all you’ve done is make me doubt _everything.”_

Her voice had finally broken, reduced to a harsh whisper as the emotion finally began to spill. And the way she looked at him now—so drained, so betrayed—with eyes that reflected so many sleepless nights, squeezed at his heart hard enough to be painful.

His words barely found enough strength to form at all. “I’m _sorry.”_

She blinked at that, the action pushing a single tear down her face. A hand quickly scrubbed it away. Maybe she hadn’t expected him to apologize. No, he was supposed to spin another lie. Keep challenging what she was confident in knowing. The one thing she was slow to understand was that he’d already accepted losing this battle. And if that meant losing her in the end too . . .

Well. His feelings didn’t matter in the end. For her sake, it might be for the better.

They both jumped when another body suddenly appeared next to them. “Hello, kids,” greeted what must have been the museum curator, if her uniform was anything to go by. “You must be more of Mr. Strickler’s students. Apologies for not approaching you sooner—I didn’t see you come in.”

“It’s okay. Really,” Claire responded immediately, putting on a neutral face as practiced as any theatre kid could pull off. But she couldn’t quite hide the tremor in her voice. The staff’s grip was already hidden away in her purse.

The curator—an Asian woman with straight hair as black as the night sky—beamed at them, eager to assist. And though her smile was warm, something about her eyes rubbed Jim the wrong way. They were as sharp as a knife as they passed over him, lingering just a second longer than necessary. It put him on edge in a way he couldn’t explain. “I’d be more than happy to help you get started. The hardest part is knowing what to look for.”

He and Claire exchanged glances, and it was obvious she also didn’t want to focus on this right now. But it was still a project they had to complete, and it’d be silly to pass up the curator’s knowledge when they were so lost to begin with. “Sure,” Jim nodded. “Help would be nice.”

They followed the curator—Ms. Z. Nomura, as her nametag suggested—as she led them through select corridors, vigorously recapitulating the history of the many displays as they passed. Claire was silent, leaving Jim with the job of sounding interested via a series of hums and polite nods.

Ms. Nomura stopped in front of a long display case near the back of the building, the inside layered with a delicate cloth that held the broken pieces of an old sword. The blade was dull and chipped, the hilt worn and cracked, and the whole thing was covered in so much rust and grime its original colors were impossible to decipher. “It’s widely thought that the legendary King Arthur was based on several historical figures and inspired by countless conflicts that took place in what is now Great Britain. Exact knowledge of what era he belongs in is debated, but his time of reign ranges from the sixth century to the twelfth century, depending on which text you read. The character of King Arthur could have possibly originated from the deeds of vaunted military leaders who claimed victories over the Saxon armies, as he was said to have slain hundreds of his enemies single-handedly with only a sword.”

“You’re saying that _this_ sword is Excalibur?” Claire said, sounding skeptical.

“No one knows for sure,” Ms. Nomura smiled with a teasing twinkle in her eyes. “This sword was recovered from Wales near the site that served as the grounds for the Battle of Bryn Glas, so such finds are not unusual. The sword itself, however, dates back to the eleventh century. Now what could a hundred-years-old sword be doing at a fifteenth-century battleground?”

The question was meant to spark intrigue, but Claire just looked unamused. Jim really didn’t blame her—the whole display felt like a silly gimmick to generate conversation and raise doubt about the stories of King Arthur being fiction. It was most likely just a regular sword from an era where everyone and their mother used a sword. “So, how many students have you shown this to?” Jim asked. “I’m not sure about Strickler’s policy on duplicate subject matter.”

“Just you. I was saving this one for someone that caught my eye, and you happened to be the lucky winner. Good luck with the rest of your assignment. If you need anything else, I’ll be around helping the others.”

Ms. Nomura departed after that, leaving a bewildered Jim alone with Claire once more. Her eyes were fixed on the sword; on the flaking hilt and the blackened fragments of blade. There was no regal decoration. Barely any decoration at all. Painfully ordinary. Hardly worthy to be compared to such a fabled weapon.

“I put so much trust in you,” she said after a long moment. Jim glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, too afraid to move. “The rehearsals. The dates. The . . . _god._ The kissing tree during the bonfire. I tried, Jim, and apparently that wasn’t enough for you to trust me too.”

“It’s not that I didn’t trust you,” he whispered tremulously. Claire paused long enough to fix him with an expectant look. He swallowed thickly. “It’s that I didn’t trust myself.”

“And there you go again. More excuses. I’m glad that’s working out for you.”

She made to shove past him, to continue down the corridor and away from their conversation—but his arm shot out, palm slapping the wall hard enough to make her flinch as he blocked her escape. His jacket had ridden up just enough to expose his scars, perfectly eye-level with her. His gaze was hot and his blood boiled.

“I _never_ asked for this,” he snarled. And then he was gone, moving briskly for the lobby, out of the museum, out of Claire’s life, whatever. He just needed to _breathe._

The walk home was a blur—enough that he didn’t even realize he was in his neighborhood until his street came into view, more than an hour later. It made him slow down enough to realize his lungs burned and his legs ached. But the pain felt good. His head was clearer from the walk. His shoulders felt lighter without the burden of Claire weighing him down.

So, she knew. So what? She was safer staying away from him anyway. As long as she didn’t go around spreading what she knew, she’d never have to interact with him again.

Jim sighed, slowing his pace. Everything was such a mess. Claire; his mother; the Gumm Gumms; the amulet . . . He found himself instinctively reaching for the artifact still absent from his pocket. After all these weeks of carrying it around, not feeling its familiar weight felt so off. Almost unbalancing, like he’d lost a part of him.

And he _hated_ how much he yearned to have it back, just for the comfort of holding it. Something familiar and in his control. A constant.

Something that never failed to make him wonder.

His legs were carrying him across the street before he knew it, veering away from the direction of his house and making for Toby’s. He hadn’t seen the amulet since he’d thrown it out the window, and he had no idea where it’d landed or where it might have rolled to. It just had to be somewhere closer to Toby’s house.

Even as he picked his way through the grass, scanning the ground, moving closer to the trees behind the house with every step, the nagging in the back of his mind was incessant. Reminding him of Blinky’s warning and that this was a terrible idea. Recovering what was essentially the vessel for an ancient wizard’s soul spelt disaster, especially if what the trolls said was true.

And yet, part of him was still desperate to learn of what he was. What might have caused a troll side to emerge and dominate. Merlin had promised him answers. How could he simply ignore such a temptation? It’s not like Blinky had to know.

But how he’d go about finding the old wizard’s apprentice . . . that was another impossibility entirely. What was her name? Morgan, or something. Maybe he could find something through Mr. Strickler’s project. There was bound to be _some_ truth to those stories, if he’d learned anything by now.

The amulet’s soft blue glow was nowhere to be seen. In the shadows of the trees, it should be easier to spot, but he didn’t notice anything. Maybe it’d rolled somewhere else. Down the street, perhaps?

Jim turned to head back—and stopped. His eyes were locked on the ground, staring at the patch of dirt that held the imprint of a foot. Not human . . . but no animal, either. This was made by a troll. He was sure of it.

But what was a troll doing here?

“Looking for something?”

His heart stuttered and he whipped around in time to be greeted by a large and gnarled hand clamping around his throat. Jim clutched tighter at skeletal fingers as he felt his feet leave the ground, rising into the air until his gaze was level with the dreadful assassin’s. He couldn’t speak—couldn’t even breathe.

Angor Rot chuckled as he watched him struggle. “I knew there was something unusual about you when you challenged me that day, but I couldn’t put my finger as to why. Now, though—I know.”

Jim’s head felt too light. His lungs burned. The edges of his vision began to blacken.

The troll grinned wickedly. “You’re Bular’s greatest mistake.”

With one easy movement, Angor Rot tossed him away. His back collided hard with the ground and he gasped for air as soon as his body allowed it. But it didn’t last—a foot crushed to his chest a second later, pressing him into the grass. Jim cried out as he felt his ribcage pop under the pressure.

“There’s a darkness within you, boy,” Angor continued above him, gazing down with intense intrigue. “Something angry and vile. Hiding within the magic that now fills your veins. You know it, deep down. It drives your instinct, pushing you to kill. I felt it during our battle.”

“So why don’t you just kill me?” Jim wheezed, baring his teeth.

The troll leaned closer, his golden eyes burning in the shade of the trees as he smiled. “Where’s the fun in that?”

The pressure on his chest disappeared entirely. He groaned at the fierce ache that flared in its absence, stabbing with every beat of his heart. His vision fuzzed with every painful inhale, threatening to pull him under.

“I’ve no quarrel with you, boy,” Angor Rot said as he backed away, closer to the safety of the trees. “Your prey is Gunmar. Mine is my own.”

Something blue and glowing flew from his hand and Jim quickly caught it as it reached him. Parting his hands revealed the dazzling sapphire of Merlin’s amulet shining up at him, twinkling in that way it did to seem alive.

“Be wary of what masters you serve, lest you become a slave to higher powers. Just as I have.”

Angor Rot turned for the woods, his tattered cloak rippling as it obscured his decaying body. Jim staggered to his feet, one hand clutching his chest, the other tightly gripping the amulet. “Wait,” he croaked.

The troll stopped. He didn’t turn around, but the slight cock of his head to the side told Jim he was listening.

“What do you want with her?”

Silence. Then: “Haven’t I warned you about toying with things you don’t understand?” He stepped through the tree line. “Give the girl my sincerest regards.”

Jim watched him depart. He expected the troll to simply vanish into thin air like he’d done countless times before, but he just kept . . . walking. Deeper into the forest until it swallowed him. Until Jim was left alone with more dread than answers.

The amulet ticked slowly away in his hand.

* * *

“You were right.”

Strickler’s fingers tightened around his elbows, digging into bone as the words confirmed his fears. The evidence was hard to ignore, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. Not until he knew for sure. Being cautious had its benefits—and this one time, he wanted to be wrong.

“The boy is a troll,” Nomura continued, shutting the office door behind her as she entered. The look on her face couldn’t be any further from how Strickler felt. Jim’s condition was unique and highly unusual, and the woman was intrigued beyond measure. She approached him where he leaned against his desk with crossed arms. “Not exactly subtle about it, either. He was arguing with the girl he was with. Seems she may know too.”

“This, I am already aware,” Strickler nodded. “I believe he may have overextended his hand and exposed himself to her by mistake.”

“That knowledge could prove dangerous.”

“The girl is no threat. I trust she fancies this boy enough to keep her mouth shut about the existence of trolls, lest she risk endangering him. We will keep a closer watch of her. He, on the other hand, is a far more pressing concern.”

Nomura’s eyes flashed. “I could take care of that.”

Strickler quickly pushed to his feet. _“No,”_ he snapped, making her brow shoot up in surprise. “You fail to understand how difficult that would make things.” Tearing his attention from his associate, he placed himself in front of the window to stare out at the empty courtyard. “Aside from the suspicion it would raise on the surface, he also has allies down in Trollmarket. Allies who would not hesitate to go poking around once they discovered their unusual friend was missing.”

“So what do we do?”

“We?” Strickler turned to face her, eyes narrowing in warning. _“You_ will do nothing. I will not risk you exposing _us._ The last thing we need at this moment is more attention from the wrong people. Particularly the magical kind.”

Nomura frowned unhappily, but didn’t argue his point. “There was a series of vandalisms on the east side of town this morning.”

“What of it?”

“Troll remains were discovered there.”

Now _this_ was news to him. Somewhat troubling, in fact. He turned to face her. “Anything compromising?”

She shook her head. “The authorities saw nothing more than a pile of rubble. I had a chance to take a look, though, and I noticed Gumm Gumm patterns in the stone. This was one of Gunmar’s horde.”

Strickler nodded slowly, considering this information. “It appears Gunmar is testing just how far he can provoke our little wizard friend.”

“Shattering isn’t exactly his style.”

“You’re right. This wasn’t a magical intervention. Someone else got there first.”

They exchanged glances, because they both had the same suspicion. Nomura chuckled in dark delight. “Seems this teacher’s pet has more bite than expected.”

Strickler dropped his gaze to the floor. Jim had bested Angor Rot. He’d infiltrated Gunmar’s den. He even survived Bular’s wrath. It was hardly surprising that he was able to kill a simple-minded brute. What Nomura didn’t realize was just how much power he really carried, and how dangerous that made him.

But that was not her concern.

“I’ll take care of it,” Strickler told her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so good news and bad news. good news is i don't go back to work until january 2nd so i'll have a lot of time to write before then. bad news is i'm in ohio. that's it. jk that's only part of it the rest is that even though there's literally nothing to do here it's still hard to find time to write because of family things. circumstances are unlikely to grant me the time to upload before next friday but my goal is to ultimately have ch. 20 up before the end of december to tie off the year with another milestone. then my upload schedule will hopefully return to normal now that my job will no longer harvest my organs
> 
> love u guys hope your holiday is bearable and long and well-deserved


	20. Don't Judge a Book . . .

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim was pretty certain it wasn't common practice for museum curators to make house calls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i haven't uploaded a chapter since last year asdfkjovijwaenjrf;aoisduflsidufha;wejfa funny joke
> 
> had this done for some days now but could not get to a proper computer to upload. holidays are so invasive omg. unfortunately it's not like crazy long to make up for the wait like some recent chapters have been but it's still up there at 10k words. hoping some itches get scratched here. gets a little violent but nothing worse than what's been written so far
> 
> you ever imagine an entire story just to give context for certain scenes you thought of first? this chapter has one of those scenes :)

Slowly but surely, Jim was cleaning up the mess he’d made.

The rhythmic scraping of a drywall knife sounded through the hall as he worked to patch up yet another depression in the wall. The bathroom was free of any lingering debris and the broken medicine cabinet was in the garbage—he and his mother had plans to get another over the weekend. He’d tidied up his room as much as possible, spackling any gaping holes and fixing door hinges. The pictures he’d ruined could have their frames replaced. During the night as a troll, he’d righted his dresser.

The shattered window and the cracked floor, however, were a bit beyond his skill level. They’d require professional repair. For now, he’d mounted plastic over the window to keep out the chill of fall. It would have to do until his mother scheduled an expert to come take a look.

Right on cue, her door opened and she stepped out, dressed in full scrubs and ready for work. “Alright, kiddo. I’m leaving. And I really appreciate you doing that but you didn’t have to.”

Jim shrugged, never stopping in his task. “I wanted to. It was my fault, so I’m taking care of it.”

His mother chose not to argue and gave him a hug instead, careful to avoid brushing any of the white residue dotting his hands. “I’ll have my phone on me all night, so if you need anything, call me.”

He smiled at her. “Promise.” And that seemed to help her relax a little. He knew she was tentative to leave him on his own, especially after he’d requested for her to call him in sick to school that morning. But it wasn’t because he felt close to another breakdown—he just needed the space from Claire, more than anything. A day where he could devote himself to correcting his mistakes and take a break from the nightmare that was his life. “Make sure you grab your dinner before you go.”

“Already on my way,” she said as she made her way to the stairs. Just as soon as her foot landed on the first step, she paused and glanced back over at him. “Jim . . . you know we’re going to have to talk about this at some point, right?”

Jim’s smile faltered as his eyes slowly shifted to the wall, taking in the many unpainted patch jobs already done, and the rest he had yet to do—including the thin gouges where he’d raked his claws through the drywall. The memory was foggy, despite happening only days ago. Almost dreamlike. With a short nod, he answered, “Soon.”

His mother pursed her lips before returning the gesture. “Okay,” she replied softly. Then, “Love you, kiddo.”

His response followed her as she descended the stairs. “Love you too, mom.”

Though he quietly resumed his task, he never stopped listening to her shuffling a floor below until the sound of the fridge opening and closing told him she was indeed grabbing the risotto he’d prepared for her. Then the clicking of the front door until silence rang through the house. A moment later, the hum of her car pulling onto the street.

“All clear, Chompsky,” he called. “You can come out now.”

The quiet pattering of tiny feet grew louder as the little gnome sped out of his room, antsy after being cooped up all day. Between cleaning the upstairs and ensuring no more horde soldiers were marching through Arcadia, Jim hadn’t yet found the time to take him back down to Trollmarket. But he had offered to take him off Toby’s hands in the meantime—and, as it turned out, gnomes were surprisingly receptive as long as they were given food when demanded.

The agitated chittering made it pretty clear that his miniature companion was, in fact, demanding that very thing. “Okay, okay—just let me finish with this hole. Almost done.”

Chompsky—affectionately dubbed by Toby after the gnome had threatened to bite off his thumb when reaching for the tacos—waved his hands in outrage before giving Jim’s shoe a harmless, though very deliberate, series of kicks.

“Fine! Fine, alright. I’ll let you into the fridge.”

That earned him a high-pitched wail of victory. The little gnome scurried over to the stairs and began his descent of hopping one at a time. Jim shook his head as he set down his tools to follow. Being ordered around by six inches of teeth and sass shouldn’t be so endearing, but he couldn’t seem to tell the little guy no. This must be what it felt like to own a cat. He’d have to ask Toby later. Chompsky was already bouncing by the fridge door by the time Jim made it into the kitchen. He vaulted in the instant he was granted access.

“Here, go nuts. _Not_ that—” Jim quickly grabbed the foil-covered bowl of pesto and placed it out of his reach. Too messy. He did the same with the milk, fearing the gnome might gnaw straight through the carton. “—or that. Try not to destroy the fridge?”

Chompsky grumbled at him but thankfully settled for the wedge of asiago. Jim had to bite his tongue not to complain—he’d wanted to use that. But at least the gnome was sated for the time being. He shut the door after Chompsky exited with his prize and leapt onto the counter.

“Not much for table manners, huh?” Jim asked mildly as he watched the small creature buzz through the cheese like a wood chipper, wrapper and all. Despite the gnome being occupied, he was reluctant to leave him alone just in case he decided to get into trouble, so he stuck around as he waited for Chompsky to finish, leaning on the counter, bored.

The amulet sat in his back pocket, right where it belonged. Even now, he could feel its weight. But despite Angor Rot returning it to him . . . he hadn’t felt Merlin’s presence. Not once. And maybe he should take that as good fortune, but honestly, his curiosity was a burden. Jim reached back and pulled it out to study. It was the same as it always was, slowly ticking away, the hands gradually climbing to converge at the twelve-o-clock position.

He tapped the silver frame. Nothing happened. He prodded the gem with a finger. “Hey, Merlin,” he whispered as he gave it a firm shake. “Anybody home? Come on, you owe me for putting up with your shit.”

His thumb pressed to one of the hands and pulled in the opposite direction. The stone flared within and Jim dropped it with a start, the metal clattering on the counter. It lay still, completely dormant.

“You are _such_ an asshole,” he scoffed at the amulet. Angry chittering made him look up to see Chompsky stomping his foot at him, looking very offended. “No, not you. Go back to your cheese.” Why had he bothered picking the damn thing back up in the first place? He left the amulet where it lay on the counter—because to hell with it right now—and moved to wash the spackle off his hands in the sink.

There was a knock at the front door as he finished toweling the water off. Jim exchanged glances with Chompsky, who’d paused his eating at the noise. He shooed the little gnome off the counter, and though Chompsky wasn’t very happy about having to hide, he did as he was told. He took what was left of the cheese with him and disappeared around the corner.

It was a precaution, mostly. Maybe a little paranoia. Jim certainly hadn’t been expecting any visitors so the likelihood of one entering the house was low. But better to be safe than sorry. He walked over to the entryway and pulled it open—

—to reveal the very last person he would have thought to see standing on the other side.

For a long moment, he just held her gaze—heavy, awkward, uncomfortable. A little painful. She was the first one to speak. “Can we talk?” Claire asked him, sounding polar opposite to how she had the day before.

The temptation was there, to throw her words back at her— _oh,_ now _you want to talk—_ but it vanished as quickly as it’d appeared. Jim swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly very dry, and deflated. With a brief nod, he stepped aside to allow her in.

It was the first time she’d been in his house. Her eyes wandered, taking in the furnishings and pictures on the walls. He clicked the door shut behind her, feeling numb and hollow on the inside—a feeling he hadn’t quite managed to shake since their conversation yesterday. And having her here now didn’t fill that hole, either. If anything, it just twisted the knife.

Slowly, he followed her in, not able to keep his eyes on her for long. She picked up the portrait of him and his mother on his eleventh birthday when she’d gotten him a new bike. A week later, he’d given himself a concussion after trying to pop his first wheelie. “Your mom’s really pretty,” Claire said, more to herself than him.

Jim sighed and leaned against the wall, keeping his distance. “Why are you here?”

She glanced over at him and, once again, his gaze strayed. “You weren’t at school today.”

“Just . . . needed a break.”

“I had a feeling.” He saw her place the picture back in his peripheral. Claire moved closer, but like him, she didn’t look to push any potential boundaries. She mirrored his posture on the opposite wall. “I haven’t forgotten what you did for me,” she said softly.

“Did what?”

“Kept me safe.” Her expression tightened, and no doubt that particular night was hard to remember. “In the woods after the bonfire. You threw yourself into danger to keep me safe.” A few seconds of silence as she exhaled shakily. “I’m sorry.”

“No. No, I’m . . . it was my fault. I knew what you were going through, and I made it worse. I messed everything up. I understand if you hate me—”

“I _don’t_ hate you,” she said firmly, surprising him enough to finally meet her eyes. “I was mad, upset, and I haven’t slept well in days . . . and I was _wrong._ I know you’ve been hurting, and it was stupid of me not to realize sooner that _this_ is why. I can’t even imagine what it’s been doing to you.”

It took him several seconds to find his voice. “I’m scared,” he whispered tremulously. “I don’t understand everything that’s happening to me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to undo it. My life is spiraling so quickly out of my control and the last thing I wanted was to bring people down with me.” He shook his head in remorse. “I never intended for anyone to find out.”

Claire watched him closely, and he really hoped she didn’t see him blink away the wetness in his eyes. Her gaze slid lower until he knew she was staring at the scars on his arm. “I just want to understand.”

He didn’t mind his scars showing, but in that moment, the thought of them being seen made his skin crawl. “I’m not like them,” he answered quietly, pulling his sleeves down until only his hands remained visible. “I wasn’t lying about that. None of them have what I have. One of them bit me, and now I’m stuck somewhere in the middle with no way out.”

She didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. How could she? How could anyone understand enough to know what to say? “How . . . does it work?” she ended up asking instead.

Jim could see the fierce curiosity in her eyes, and he knew she was, above all else, yearning to learn about this side of him. She’d always been one for riddles, and no doubt he was by far the most complicated one she’d ever encountered. He was hesitant to take that as acceptance—but at least it was something he knew how to answer. With a nod, he headed for the kitchen, and after a moment, heard Claire cautiously follow.

When she caught up, she frowned at him, until she noticed the enchanted amulet sitting on the counter at his side. Recognition replaced the questions in her eyes. “So, this _isn’t_ some gimmicky watch.”

“No.” He pointed to the hands, which were dangerously close to their home position of twelve-o-clock. That feeling of panic was still there in his chest, terrified of being seen after sunset—even though Claire already knew. But despite it, he had no intention of running away this time. “When the sun sets, the gem inside turns red. In the morning, it turns back to blue.”

“And when it’s red, you . . .” she trailed off. He nodded. “Wow. No wonder you were in such a hurry.”

Jim stared at the silver hands as they slowly ticked upwards, feeling weeks of remorse burning in his throat like bile. “I didn’t want to hide,” he muttered. “I just didn’t know what else to do.”

For a long moment, they were both silent—Claire probably trying to process, and Jim wondering what would happen now. He didn’t dare hope to repair what they had—he’d done enough damage as is, and she deserved better than a mutant mess like him.

Claire bit her lip, looking conflicted, before raising her gaze to his. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

He wasn’t sure whether to be dreading or curious. “What?”

“That thing I showed you at the museum. The one from . . .”

She couldn’t finish the thought, and Jim didn’t blame her, but he knew exactly what she meant. The staff grip. He’d honestly forgotten all about it, and now he wondered if he should have taken it from her in case it was dangerous. “What about it?”

“Well—”

The amulet suddenly began rattling on the table, its hands spinning rapidly in opposite directions. The gem pulsed inside the frame. Claire flinched away, startled, but Jim watched it with weary eyes.

“What’s it doing?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “But the last time it did this—”

The hand halted to a stop with a click and a chime, ringing through the kitchen. Jim followed its indication and found it pointing in the direction of the front door.

A few seconds later, there was a knock.

Now he was just confused. He exchanged glances with Claire, who looked nervous. Which made sense—she wasn’t used to all the weird magical stuff yet, especially something as unpredictable as Merlin’s amulet. He motioned for her to stay put and headed for the door, not really knowing what to expect but suspicious regardless, because why else would the amulet warn him? It had done the same thing with Angor Rot. If an assassin troll was standing on the other side—

Jim pulled the door open and blinked in surprise at the visitor, because for the second time that evening, it wasn’t someone he’d expected. Nomura stood on his porch with a friendly smile and a thick book in her arms. For, uh, some reason? “Ms. Nomura,” he greeted politely. “Uh, can I . . . help you?”

“Actually, I think I can help _you,”_ she replied enthusiastically, stepping past him before he could say otherwise. “You’re the kids who were looking at the sword from Wales, correct?”

Jim was too bewildered to answer, glancing back and forth between the woman and the door. Thankfully, Claire stepped out of the kitchen to assist. “That’s right,” she answered, looking equally confounded that the museum curator was standing in his living room in that instant.

He finally found his voice. “Excuse me for asking, but, uh. What are you doing at my house?”

“Oh, I was in the neighborhood and thought you’d appreciate this text I dug up from our storage.” She put the tome down on the coffee table. “It contains some references to Excalibur you might find useful for your comparisons.”

“And . . . you knew where I lived?”

Her smile was sweet, but once again, there was just something about her eyes that didn’t sit well with him. “Strickler and I know each other well. He was the one who provided your address.”

Jim was beginning to feel some of Claire’s nervousness slip into him. Nothing about what she was saying made much sense. Since when did curators do personal deliveries? Especially to a high school student. He walked over to the coffee table to gaze at the book’s cover, stepping around the woman as he did.

“You just happened to have the book on hand while in the neighborhood?” came Claire’s voice from behind him. _Blades of Power_ , the title read. It wasn’t in English, and he was equally surprised when the words unraveled in his head as Blinky’s teachings slowly caught up.

Because it was in Trollish.

“Yes. But the book wasn’t the only reason I came over.”

The clicking of the deadbolt locking into place made Jim twist around in alarm. Nomura stood at the front door, her hand still on the switch, and when she looked over, he felt his blood run cold. Her smile was no longer warm, but something sinister. Threatening. Her eyes looked greener than before.

Jim instinctively moved closer to Claire, never taking his eyes off the woman.

“Rumor has it there’s a troll with human blood.” Nomura moved away from the door, approaching them with calm, slow steps. Jim backed away, pushing Claire further behind him. “And I just _had_ to see it for myself.”

There was a crackle of magic as the woman was consumed with light, and it dissipated only seconds later to reveal something much taller, much stonier, much more _troll._ He heard Claire gasp and grab his arm out of fear.

But Jim couldn’t move. “You’re like me,” he breathed in disbelief.

The troll who had been Nomura not a moment ago snarled at him. “We’re _nothing_ alike, boy.”

She towered over them, moving with all the grace of a snake. Most trolls were dull in color and broadly built, but before him was a slender frame with fuchsia stone for skin and acid eyes like a possessed feline. A sleek tail of ebony-black hair cascaded from her head to the floor, a pair of hooved feet complimenting long legs, and though she possessed no horns, her shark-like teeth made up the difference. The longer he stared, the more obvious it became what exactly she was.

This was a changeling. A master of disguise. An agent of chaos. Just like in Blinky’s book. Despite the icy fear clawing at his insides, he narrowed his eyes in warning. The troll’s smile widened and she stepped closer. Claire gripped his arm tighter.

“What are you waiting for?” Nomura beckoned. “Let’s see it.”

Jim recognized the tautness in her stance and shoved Claire towards the kitchen just as the troll swiped for him. Black talon claws shredded through his sweater and the skin of his shoulder. He gasped and stumbled, clutching at the injury and feeling blood seep through his fingers, but he kept himself stubbornly positioned between Claire and the changeling.

He stood no chance while human, and he still wouldn’t let this monster lay a _finger_ on her.

“Brave boy,” she crooned, watching him with interest as he bared his teeth. “If you want to make this a game, I’ll gladly play.”

The troll lunged for him and he had no choice but to throw himself to the side to avoid getting ripped apart. He landed on his stomach and she followed like a spider, creeping into the dining room after him, cackling in amusement. His shoulder hurt like hell as he scrambled backwards to kick a chair in her path.

“What will it take to bring out the fun? What will it take to pull it _out_ of you, boy?”

Jim staggered to his feet, backpedaling so quickly he nearly tripped over the coffee table. The book teetered at the edge when his leg smacked into the table hard enough to displace it. Nomura pounced and he tried to run, but her wiry fingers wrapped around his ankle and brought him crashing back onto the floor. Pain shot up his jaw as it cracked on the wood and he groaned through a bitten tongue, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth.

 _“Jim!”_ Claire screamed.

He just had to stall. That’s all it would take. If he could just live long enough . . .

Twisting around, he slammed his other foot into the troll’s nose as hard as he could. That devilish smile disappeared for a moment as she hissed in annoyance, and he managed to tear his leg out of her grasp—but not without her claws tearing through his jeans and raking painfully down his ankle.

Her words followed him as he scrambled back into the hall. “I can sense your fire. It burns hot. Hotter than any human’s. Because that’s not what you are, are you?”

Jim stood panting against the wall, the sting in his shoulder and leg fierce, the breath in his lungs sharp and cold. His eyes wandered to the side and he met Claire’s terrified gaze from the kitchen, standing just beyond where his amulet lay. She looked petrified with fear.

Nomura straightened, inclining her head as she leered down at him. “So, show me.”

Trembling with pain and fear and a fury that had nowhere to go, Jim peered defiantly into slitted acid green. But he made no move to fight. She was toying with him. That gave him a sliver of hope that maybe she wasn’t looking to kill him. Merely provoke his troll side into surfacing.

That feeling vanished as soon as her eyes darted to the side towards the kitchen. Towards Claire. Her cold smile grew and Jim felt his heart stop. Her gaze turned back to him as a final warning.

Overall, she was faster, but while she had to cut through the dining room to reach the kitchen, Jim darted straight down the hall to meet her. With a shout, he leapt onto her back and clawed his fingers across her face, looking to scratch at her eyes and blind her. He heard Claire shriek. Nomura growled in surprise and staggered backwards, and Jim pulled back as hard as he could to encourage her to continue that way.

Long arms reached back to grab him. The next thing he knew, the world was flipping too fast to see until he was on the floor, flat on his back, and seeing stars from the impact.

That trick definitely worked better on the bigger trolls.

“I’m beginning to lose my patience,” came that hissing voice above him. Black claws hooked into the collar of his sweater and lifted him high into the air. He tried prying her fingers off, to no avail. “If I can’t scare it out of you, then perhaps I can beat it out of you.”

Nomura launched him backwards, and for a moment, he felt weightless—until gravity reclaimed him a second later and brought him down _hard._ He landed on his arm.

There was a deafening _crack!_ that echoed through the kitchen. Jim threw his head back and screamed as blinding pain burst from the limb and consumed every sense.

He felt hands on him. Soft, human hands—not the solid roughness of a troll’s—steadying him, coaxing him to open his eyes. Through tears and dizzying pain, he cracked them open to squint blearily up at the ceiling. An agonizing stretch of time passed before Claire’s face came into focus. She was shaking him, saying something. His name, he thought. It was hard to tell through the fog.

Nomura stepped closer, whistling a haunting tune under her breath, her eyes glowing like green fire in the low light as she watched them. Claire pulled him closer, clutching him tightly. Jim grit his teeth as he cradled his broken arm to his chest. Of all the days he needed an inhuman advantage, this was the one time the sun decided to take its time.

“How sweet,” the troll purred. “Children protecting one another. It won’t save you.”

The last thing he expected was Claire to leave him in that moment. He was too slow to stop her as she jumped in front, stance low and defensive, and there was a sharp _shhhiick!_ as something long and dark and angular unfurled seemingly out of nowhere.

Angor Rot’s staff. Somehow, she’d activated it, and now it practically smoked in her hands as she aimed the crackling head, sparking with deadly magic, at the changeling. Nomura’s eyes widened in shock and she hissed as she took a step back.

“The _Skathe-Hrün,”_ she breathed. “How did a simple human come into possession of such a dangerous relic?”

Claire seemed equal parts protective, confused, and surprised at herself. She kept glancing down at the staff in her trembling hands uncertainly, and Jim practically felt her nerve drain as her posture tightened, closing. Her fear was winning over and it was sapping her courage. The life appeared to leak out of the staff as the darkness slowly receded at the end, leaving behind a pale husk.

The amulet chimed from the counter and its blue glow switched to red. Jim felt his arm shift as the bone snapped back into place.

“I won’t let you hurt him,” Claire said shakily.

Nomura’s smile slowly returned. “You do not have the will to wield it, little girl. If you cannot protect yourself, then how do you expect to protect—”

The changeling’s eyes flicked past her, finally noticing Jim rising to his feet. His markings were already red and the kitchen basked in the glow. Claire didn’t seem to notice until a threatening growl rolled through his bared teeth, and when she turned—gradually, tentatively—it was clear how startled she was as her eyes climbed higher until they landed on his face.

It made him forget being angry for a moment. He uncurled his lip and stared back. Neither moved.

There was a glint of metal in his peripheral and his reflexes took over instantly. Jim grabbed Claire and wrapped himself around her, spinning until he was between her and danger, mimicking something he’d seen Draal do before—

A huge mistake. He didn’t have Draal’s natural armor. Burning razor steel sliced down his back and he arched with a roar as the pain registered, nearly blinding him. And it only made him angrier. He stood panting, holding Claire close, and listening. Nomura chuckled sadistically from somewhere behind. His ear twitched as he heard a single hoof step forward.

Claire’s terrified gasp was his warning. Jim released her and spun around, throwing all his weight behind his fist as he slammed it against the changeling’s face hard enough to not only halt her next swing, but to throw her off her feet entirely. She hit the ground hard and slid the remaining distance, a pair of curved blades clattering after her.

His back stung fiercely and he pressed his hands to his knees. His breaths came in shuddering gasps. Nomura growled from where she lay and slowly pushed herself to her feet. Her blades lay nearby, glowing a hot orange as they hissed against the floor, enchanted with the heat of fire similarly to what he’d seen down in Trollmarket.

 _“That’s_ more like it,” the changeling sneered, all teeth as she grinned at him. Jim shoved the pain to the back of his mind and straightened as her long fingers curled around the hilts of her blades. She still had height over him, but not by much. “I don’t see what the big deal is. You’re just a whelp. Still only a child.”

She was about to discover just how much the odds had changed with the setting of the sun.

Nomura definitely hadn’t expected him to charge without warning. Her reaction was slow as she faltered, surprised, and that allowed him to easily slide beneath her blades and slam into her. The weapons flew out of her grip as they hit the floor with him on top and there was little she could do to stop the flurry of furious blows he threw.

It became very clear very quickly just how far out of her comfort zone fighting in this manner was. She tried desperately to throw him off, but every time she managed to upset his balance and flip their position in her favor, he would quickly wrestle her back under him. They were a violent storm of thrashing limbs and deadly claws.

He hadn’t felt a rage like this since that night with Angor Rot. His vision was a bloody haze as he tunneled on the changeling, mind blank, save for the insatiable desire to _tear his opponent apart._ And all the pain from her own attacks only fueled his fire.

Nomura finally found an opening and her fist connected hard enough to knock him onto his back. If he’d been human, his nose would have shattered, along with the front of his skull. Shaking his head with a growl, he rolled onto all fours and twisted back around—just in time to see the changeling doing the same, but with one of her blades now in hand.

He barely had time to throw his arm up to stop it from cutting him in two. The force nearly sent him back to the floor as hot steel sliced across his forearm, burning away sleeve and slashing through stone. Jim cried out in pain and clutched the injured limb tightly to his chest. The clopping of hooves alerted him to Nomura’s advance and he jumped to his feet just as another blade came arcing down. It seared across the floor in a narrow miss.

But he couldn’t move in time to stop a hooved foot from slamming into his chest and launching him down the hall. His head cracked against the back door so hard he was surprised it didn’t splinter on impact. The kick had left him winded and he struggled to draw breath.

Nomura was back on her feet—and that was bad news for him, because that was exactly how she wanted to be. Both weapons already in hand, she charged at him, blades raised high, moving so fast he almost didn’t have time to stand—

He did the only thing he could do and threw his hands up. Enchanted steel bit into his palms as they stopped both blades fast. Jim screamed, the burn immediately unbearable, and he shoved both blades aside before ramming his shoulder against the changeling, forcing her away.

“That wasn’t very smart,” Nomura chuckled, watching him fold in on himself as his hands smoldered. Deep gashes, black and ugly, marred the palm of each. There was no blood, as the skin had been cauterized instantly. He drew them in tightly to his body, seething, heaving growls slipping through clenched teeth. They were both a mess of cuts and scratches, but for him, that meant bleeding, and he was beginning to grow dizzy. “What a pair you two make. An impulsive mongrel whelp—” Her eyes slid over to where Claire stood petrified in the corner, the dormant staff still in her shaking hands. “—and a weak-willed child witch. The last thing this world needs is more _humans_ playing with magic.”

She raised her blades again and Jim screwed his eyes shut, bracing for the sting of steel once more. A thunderous blast erupted through the house and there was a harsh wail, followed by the heavy thump of a body hitting the floor.

He was surprised to find Nomura prone and groaning in pain, the wall now sporting a large, cracked depression. The maw of Claire’s staff smoked and crackled before fizzling out, still aimed where the changeling had been standing seconds before. Her eyes were wide with shock.

Maybe it was a good thing he’d let her keep it after all.

Nomura hissed from where she lay. Jim caught onto her intentions before she lunged at Claire and he intercepted her with his horns as he charged, slamming her into the counter. The amulet fell to the floor with a sharp clink. The sting in his hands became nonexistent as his fury took over.

He barely registered what he was doing until the sickening _crunch!_ of snapping bone split the air. Nomura dropped like an anchor, writhing as she pulled one limp arm against her body. When she looked up at him, he recognized something close to fear in her eyes. Something like understanding.

“Get out of my house,” Jim snarled lowly—and his tone carried the promise that if she didn’t, he would kill her. She shrunk away with lowering ears, eyes flicking between him and Claire. Finally, Nomura staggered to her feet, and he watched closely as she clumsily retrieved her weapons.

Another moment, and the changeling was gone, disappearing out the back door with a harsh slam.

The silence in the house made his ears ring. Or maybe that was the fading adrenaline. He remembered he wasn’t alone and glanced over his shoulder to find Claire staring at him wordlessly. He realized his teeth were still showing and he tried to relax. He stopped growling. His shoulders drooped. His eyes fluttered. His markings flickered.

Jim took one step forward and collapsed as what little strength he had left disappeared.

Something solid stopped his fall, arms tightly embracing him, and he recognized Claire by her scent. She wasn’t strong enough to support his weight and sunk down with him. Her face was buried in his shoulder, and he curled around her subconsciously. His hands hurt too much to properly hold her.

“Not how I wanted your first impression to go,” he chuckled weakly.

Claire’s voice was choked when she spoke, like she was holding back tears. “Technically, this is second time we’ve been through this.”

“Guess it is.” Jim sagged in her grip, and she gently lowered him until he rested partly on her lap. He cracked his eyes open and saw that some of her tears had already managed to escape. Using the back of one hand, he brushed them away. “This is what I was scared of. I didn’t want to put you in danger.”

“So you fight them all alone? She could have—” Claire’s lips pursed as she refused to finish that thought. “Like _my_ problems even compare to what you have to deal with. I shouldn’t have said those things to you yesterday. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve _any_ of it.”

He shook his head. “No. You were right. I was selfish and you found out the hard way. I let you get hurt.”

“Let _me_ get hurt? Jim, you’re—oh my god, you’re bleeding _so_ much . . .”

Despite her frantic tone, a lazy smile found its way onto his face. “Yeah, not my best work.” Glancing down, how right she was became very obvious. He was in awful shape. His shirt was in tatters and blood seeped through, staining it a muddy red, and it was getting harder and harder to stay awake.

 _“No,”_ he heard Claire snap as she jostled him. “Don’t you _dare_ close your eyes right now, Jim. I swear to God—”

He blinked them open obediently. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“If we don’t stop the bleeding—”

“Wait, Claire. Please.” He made her pause just as she’d been about to stand. Her eyes were curious but that urgency never faltered, but at least she was listening. “Just . . . don’t leave? This is kind of nice.”

Her jaw tightened, and she didn’t seem any calmer. At least her voice was softer when she responded. “I’m not going anywhere. I just want to get something for your arm.”

If he’d had the strength, he might have stopped her from getting up. Her warmth left his side as she hurried down the hall. She was right about his arm—it was easily the worst of his injuries, a steady stream flowing out of a nasty cut onto the floor. Even with the thicker skin of his forearm, Nomura’s blade had carved right through it.

Claire kept her promise and returned quickly, holding a hand towel. She knelt down next to him and folded it before pressing to the wound. A harsh sound slipped past Jim’s teeth as the pressure caused immediate discomfort and she flinched away.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologized quickly. “It’s okay.”

With a nervous nod, she replaced it, and this time he bit back the urge to growl through the pain. Several seconds passed of him holding his breath before it became bearable, and he rolled onto his side to watch her.

“You’re a lot fuzzier like this,” she said, just to break the silence. Maybe to help keep him alert, too.

“You can say I’m ugly. I won’t mind.”

“You’re not ugly. You’re just a lot bigger and a little bluer. And I can’t say I hate the horns,” she added with a little smile. Her gaze was soft. “Even through all this, I can still see you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Seriously. It’s your eyes.”

That sounded familiar. Vendel had mentioned that his eyes gave him away.

Claire shifted closer, pulling his arm into her lap as she continued to apply pressure. She brushed back his scruffy hair, which had already begun to grow back out (thank you, mysterious troll physiology). “And I think because of that, deep down I always knew it’d been you after that night. I _recognized_ you, but it just seemed impossible, and the thought that I might be falling for a guy who was also some kind of stone creature freaked me out a little. So I just sorta . . . shoved it down, I guess.”

Warmth blossomed in his chest and he angled his head into her touch, and despite the aches all over, he felt at ease. “Are you still freaked out?”

Her fingers slid up the base of one of his horns, tracing along the curve. “It’s definitely gonna take some getting used to, but I think I’ll manage.”

That was something he could live with. Her approval was a crushing weight off his shoulders, and the heartache from the last few days already felt like a distant memory. Maybe that was because his consciousness was beginning to slip. It didn’t help that Claire had begun combing her fingers through his hair, only managing to bump into his horns a few times before she figured it out.

Completely out of his control, a purr rumbled from deep in his chest. Jim’s eyes snapped open just as Claire’s widened with surprise. “Oh my god,” he said, horrified, “I didn’t know I could do that.”

She sputtered out a laugh, taking her hand away long enough to press to her mouth. “So I guess _you’re_ still getting used to it, too.”

“You have absolutely no idea.”

The moment passed, and they fell into silence. She returned to soothingly smoothing through his hair, and as hard as Jim tried to fight it, he simply didn’t have the strength to stop himself from purring like a content cat. He would probably be _way_ more embarrassed if he didn’t feel so tired. Her gentle movements lulled him further into numbness, and his eyes grew heavy as he inched into darkness.

Claire didn’t protest again when sleep finally pulled him under.

* * *

A tiny pressure on his chest made Jim’s eyes crack open. The sight of a disgruntled little gnome hopping up and down in his entire field of vision greeted him, and he was so disappointed he nearly went back to sleep. But Chompsky clearly had his own plans, and that didn’t include any regard to Jim’s physical condition.

And so much for taking the little runt back to Trollmarket.

“You’re really no help,” he croaked. His voice was like a razor on sandpaper. He felt terrible, like he’d been dropped through an industrial shredder. Or got into a violent scuffle with a nasty pink changeling, he thought as his memories returned with his senses. He wasn’t sure if the gnome was even cognizant of what’d happened.

But he hadn’t bled to death. That was good news. Whether that was a miracle granted by his troll side or not, he didn’t know. Definitely wasn’t complaining. Not like how Chompsky was currently, who probably wanted another go at the fridge.

With a groan, Jim shakily pushed himself into a sitting position—or started to, hissing when his hands stung once they pressed to the floor. Right, Nomura had practically burned them off when she’d tried to kill him. But when he glanced at them, he noticed they were wrapped with gauze that reeked of something incredibly bitter. A burn salve, maybe. That was a very sweet gesture on Claire’s part, even if it was unnecessary. His hands would be back to normal come sundown, but of course she didn’t know that yet.

Where was she, anyway? Using his arms to sit up instead, and displace the noisy creature from his chest, he didn’t immediately notice her. Not until his eyes lowered to the floor to find her curled up next to him, fast asleep. His mom’s first-aid kit sat next to her, half-opened, and the iron grip of the staff lay at its side. No doubt she’d exhausted herself worrying about him, but at least she’d failed to stay awake. The last thing she needed was another sleepless night.

But she sure as hell didn’t look very comfortable. Her jacket was balled up under her head, serving as a thin and cushiony barrier between her and the floor. The rest of her was subjected to a hard surface. That certainly wouldn’t do.

Jim pressed a finger to his lips, hoping the gnome would get the message and shut the hell up so he didn’t wake her. Chompsky crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently. Good enough, he guessed. His battered body fought him the whole way as he shifted to his knees. His tattered sweater was gone, along with all the blood that’d been smeared across his skin. As he gingerly pushed his arms beneath her, he noticed his forearm was wrapped similarly to his hands. She weighed almost nothing as he lifted her, carefully moving to his feet, before limping his way into the living room to lay her on the couch. The blanket from his day spent relaxing with his mom was still there, and he pulled it over her.

He watched her for a moment longer. She looked so untroubled in her sleep—something he hadn’t expected with how little rest she’d received recently. Maybe seeing his truth finally gave her some peace of mind. For him, it was what he’d needed to fill the empty hole left behind. Everything felt okay again.

But now there was a new problem. A changeling in Arcadia. A changeling that knew where he lived and could potentially expose him to Gunmar. And worst of all, she’d been hiding among humans for years. No one suspected a thing about the unassuming museum curator.

And if there was one changeling, could that mean more weren’t far behind? Who knew how many walked the streets during the day, blending in with the townsfolk? The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

Squeaky muttering pulled his attention back to the floor, where Chompsky waved his arms about. Rolling his eyes, he used his foot to shove the gnome out of the living room and into the hallway, following his tiny cries of protests as he headed for the kitchen. He stepped over the little creature and opened the fridge, leaving the door open for Chompsky to have free reign as he made to return to the living room.

He noticed the soft ruby glow of the amulet on the floor. He picked it up, moving slowly to avoid irritating his injuries more than he already was. Silvery hands indicated around twenty minutes before he turned back. Maybe thirty. It wouldn’t be long before his mom was home either.

And as his eyes wandered around the house, he realized he was in deep, _deep_ shit. A riot could have taken place on the ground floor for all the damage done. Overturned furniture and broken pictures and deep, charred lacerations in the floor. He wasn’t even sure another mental breakdown was believable enough to cover it. How was he going to get out of _this_ one?

His hackles raised as he suddenly felt a heavy presence. There was nothing he could see—not in the kitchen, anyway. But when he stepped down the hall, the ghostly form of Merlin came into view, his back to Jim as he gazed down at Claire’s sleeping form.

 _Now_ he shows up. He was fairly confident the dead wizard couldn’t physically touch her, but that didn’t stop Jim from narrowing his eyes.

“It’s always interesting to see how one’s magical gifts manifest,” Merlin said. “Sometimes a near-death experience causes them to awaken. Sometimes a sensation—a smell or a passage read in a book—can bring them forth. All it took for your friend was her touching a lost staff of infamous potential from an age forgotten to history.” He turned, fixing Jim with a wry smile. “How subtle.”

“You’re not here to help me. So what do you want?”

The skin around the old man’s mouth wrinkled as his lips pulled taut. “I want to make sure this little reminder does not go ignored.”

“What reminder?”

“The changeling,” he sneered, nearly spitting out the word. “Your encounter with one was not coincidence. Time is limited, and no matter where you go, danger will follow. This is not something to take lightly, Jim.”

“You think I _don’t—”_ He glanced at Claire, remembering she was still sleeping. Lowering his voice, he said, “You think I don’t know that?”

“I know you’re torn between listening to your troll mentor and satisfying your curiosity. So you have a choice—you can either seek out my apprentice, or you can wait for danger to catch up again.”

“I don’t even know where to _start.”_

“Oh, that’s simple. You’ve already met.” Merlin turned his gaze back to Claire. _“Emendo reparo._ That’s a minor mending spell. Should help you clean the place up a little. Best hope the girl can get the hang of it before your mother returns.”

He vanished in an instant, leaving Jim reeling. What the actual _fuck._ What this going to be a thing now? A pocket master wizard popping in to be increasingly unhelpful every time something went south? Was a straightforward answer too much to ask?

What the hell did he mean _already met?!_

With a sigh, he stuffed the amulet into his pocket. He noticed a book near his feet—the one Nomura had dropped off. It lay open, face down, having been caught up in the scuffle and thrown off the coffee table. Curious, he picked it up and flipped through the pages, skimming its contents. There wasn’t much of the Trollish he could read but that didn’t stop him from wondering.

What reason would the changeling have in giving him a troll book? To threaten him that she knew his secret? As a prop in her sick game?

Jim took a seat at the kitchen table, the book splayed before him. Though most words didn’t ring a bell, he was able to discern a little from the pictures. It looked like a lore. Or maybe a historical recording. Illustrations of trolls and humans at war was the subject of many pages. At one point, a sword appeared—sleek and decorative, with a guard like sun rays. It pointed skyward with a beam of light firing from its tip. On the next page, a man with crown and regalia and the sword in his grip.

The drawings of carnage were replaced with a depiction of Merlin himself, much to Jim’s displeasure. At least troll artists seemed to get a kick out of making the old wizard look like a vile madman. Next to him, a lithe figure of gold that stared back, and Jim recognized the likeness of Morgana from Blinky’s book on changelings.

 _You’ve already met._ That’s what Merlin had said. How was that even possible? Or was that just more cryptic bullshit to bait him into doing what the wizard wanted? He’d definitely remember meeting a dead sorceress.

The next page revealed that first sword, but now it was joined by two more that flanked it on both sides. On the left, a blade that was wicked and curved, seemingly emerging from black fissuring slag. Its composition was in direct contrast, as it was drawn upside-down. The third sword was also upside-down, and much plainer than the first two. Long and broad, with a wide notch in the blade. Trollish patterns were etched into its surface.

Jim flipped the book shut and shoved it away. He wouldn’t figure anything out like this. Not on his own. Until he could fluently read Trollish, none of it would make a lick of sense. Would taking it to Blinky be wise? What would his mentor say about using resources provided by a murderous changeling? Or worse, what if he figured out Jim intended to seek out Merlin’s apprentice against his wishes?

Maybe he should keep the book to himself in the meantime. It might not hold any clues, anyway.

He glanced over as little footsteps rounded the corner from the kitchen. Chompsky came into view holding Claire’s staff grip, a glistening green smeared all over his beard, which meant that he definitely got into the pesto sauce, god _damn_ it. Another mess to deal with. “Can you read Trollish, little guy?” Jim asked him in a bored tone. The gnome babbled unintelligibly. “Yeah, didn’t think so. Worth a shot.”

Using his fingers, he beckoned him over and Chompsky dropped the grip into his waiting hand before skittering away. Even through gauze and stone, he could feel its chill seep into his skin. Why Claire had been adamant on holding onto something so . . . unsettling, he didn’t understand. But at least it’d come in handy.

And she could use magic. Turns out they were both full of surprises.

The amulet chimed from his pocket, quiet and muffled. With it brought that all-too familiar pain of shedding his stone skin, causing him to lose his balance and drop from the chair. It was much easier to bear these days—a thousand times easier than when it’d first began—but it still left him winded and he gasped for air. He felt terribly cold lying there on the floor in only his jeans.

A warm hand pressed to his back. Jim started and glanced up to find Claire kneeling next to him with a look of concern. As his breathing slowed, she helped him sit up, and a small smile formed on her face.

“There he is,” she said softly. He huffed out a soundless laugh and she pulled him into a tight embrace, to which he returned in earnest. The contact hurt with all his injuries, but he never wanted her to let go.

“We have a lot of things we need to talk about,” he murmured after a long silence.

“It can wait.” Claire pulled back, moving her hands to his arms, refusing to release him so soon. “Right now, you’re more important.”

He couldn’t blame her for worrying. His wounds looked much worse on human skin, but thankfully, none were bleeding any longer. Jim smiled. “Not a bad job, actually.”

“Sorry. Your first-aid kit wasn’t really stocked for something like this.”

“There’s a bigger one in the closet down the hall. My mom is never unprepared. But I promise, Claire—I’ll be okay.”

It took a moment of contemplation, but she seemed to understand what he was saying. After all, his broken arm had inexplicably fixed itself. “She doesn’t know, does she?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Toby knows, but that’s cause I fucked up there too. Put him in danger, and . . . well.”

“Nomura said she was close with Strickler. Do you think . . . ?”

“If she wanted to hurt Strickler, she would have done so by now. So, no. I don’t think he’s in danger.”

Claire bit her lip with a frown. “That’s not what I . . . never mind.” Her eyes fell to the floor, and her expression grew troubled the longer she lingered in her own head. The staff’s grip lay close by, having fallen from his hand after the transition began. “I could hear it calling to me,” she said, almost to herself. “Like silent whispers in my head. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about earlier.”

Jim’s gaze fell to the grip. “The staff?”

“Yeah. That’s what’s been keeping me up at night. It scared me, but . . . I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And last night, with Nomura . . . I gave in.”

“You saved me. Guess that makes us even.” Her eyes returned to his, and he could see the uncertainty they carried.

“I can feel it. I’m not even touching it and I can still feel it, like it’s part of me now.”

This wasn’t something he understood very well. Trolls don’t talk much of the magically gifted, unless it’s in a very negative light, so he didn’t know what that could mean for her. Maybe the staff awakening her power consequently resulted in some sort of bond. A magical connection. Was that a thing with wizards?

Chompsky apparently thought now was a good moment to reappear. This time he carried one of Jim’s mangled shoes, which had completely split open on last night’s transformation. Claire started and he grabbed her shoulders before she could freak out. “Okay, Claire, _relax._ He’s just a gnome.”

“How can you say that so _nonchalantly?_ Why is he in your house?" She watched the gnome approach Jim with his offering, completely ignoring her. “And why does he have one of your shoes?”

“Yeah, I don’t—I’m not really sure.” Chompsky held it up, bouncing up and down until Jim took it from his hands. With a little cheer, the gnome zipped back out of the dining room. “Um. I think he’s quid pro quo-ing me for feeding him, but he doesn’t seem to understand I can’t eat this stuff when I’m human.”

Claire stared at him. “What do you mean by _that?”_

“Like I said. There’s a lot of things we have to talk about.” He set down the shoe and lightly gripped her wrists with his fingers. “Listen. You have magic. Some people . . . have magic. Claire, _you_ have magic. And whatever you’re feeling with the staff? It’s probably magic.”

Her eyes fell back to the staff. “Magic,” she repeated. “Magic’s real. I can do magic.” She glanced back to him. “Can _you_ do magic?”

“Uh. Not that I know of. I think my troll side is technically magic, but I don’t control that.”

Claire pulled her hands back and turned them over as if they’d begin glowing at any moment. “I want to learn more. How do I learn more?”

That was a good question. Was magic hard to learn? Maybe he could find some books down in Trollmarket that might help. Except . . . the issue of translation was still there. He was definitely regretting not paying better attention during Blinky’s lessons. “I might have an idea,” he said, “but it involves not doing our project on Excalibur.”

“What does Strickler’s dumb project have to do with magic?”

 _You’ve already met._ “Have you ever heard of Morgana?”

* * *

“Bular, you thick, arrogant, short-sighted, blundering _fool!”_

The harsh words echoed throughout the throne room, turning all eyes to Stricklander as he furiously marched in, shoving through the guards at the entrance. Loose leather flowed behind him, adding an air of grace despite his anger.

The prince in question glared at him in heated confusion from the shadow of his father’s throne. Gunmar looked bored as he remained slouched in his throne, head in hand. “Why do you insult my son, Stricklander?” the Underlord droned.

“Because, Lord, your _son_ has turned fate against you.” He pointed viciously at Bular. _“You_ brought this plague against us!”

“How dare you,” Bular snarled. He rose from his place at his father’s side and stomped closer until he towered over the changeling. One hand reached for a sword strapped to his back. “I’ll teach you to point fingers at me, _impure!”_

“Bular.” His father’s voice made him pause, and he turned to regard the king with an impatient frown. “What do you mean, Stricklander?”

“The eclipse,” Stricklander answered. Gunmar’s eye narrowed and he straightened in his throne. “I now know what the Staff of Avalon shows. It is a warning, Lord. For _you._ Merlin’s champion lives.”

Gunmar blinked, face slackening. Bular scoffed. “You’re out of your mind. I killed Merlin’s champion centuries ago. That power is gone.”

“You passed it on! You _idiot!”_ Stricklander screamed at him. “Into a _human boy_ you failed to kill! A boy who watched you _murder_ Kanjigar the Courageous!”

Bular stood frozen, his expression locked in one of dawning horror. And guilt. He’d _known_ of his mistake. It just wasn’t something he’d expected to come back to bite him so thoroughly.

Good.

“And _now._ This boy that carries the power of the eclipse, a weapon created for _troll hands_ . . . walks among us, as _one_ of us. Because _that’s_ what you’ve created! _That’s_ what your failure has _cost us!”_

Silence filled the chamber. For a moment, nobody moved, and there was no sound. And then, slowly, Gunmar’s rumbling growls filled the void.

“You . . . _failed._ To kill a human?” he asked lowly, the rage evident in his tremulous tone. “A _boy?”_

The prince didn’t look as intimidating with his posture so closed. “He was too fast, Father. I was injured from my battle with Kanjigar, and I had him, I _tasted_ his blood, but the boy was clever—”

 _“You dare throw excuses at me?!”_ the Underlord bellowed. The entire Heartstone shook with his fury. “Not only have you put trollkind’s future into jeopardy, but you’ve _disgraced_ my throne! Outwitted! By a human _boy! A child!”_

“Father, please—”

 _“Silence!”_ Gunmar slammed his fists down, the blackened Heartstone that made up his throne cracking under the force. His single eye burned as he glared from beneath his brow. His voice lowered in volume, but it was no less dangerous. “I don’t want to hear another word from you. Not another _sound._ This is your mistake, and you _will_ fix it. You will go up to the surface. You will _find_ this boy. You will bring me his _head._ Do you understand, my halfwit _son?”_

The prince stood still as stone, staring up at his seething father like a scolded pup. Tightening his jaw, he nodded and bowed respectfully before turning for the exit. He didn’t spare Stricklander a single glance as he passed, eyes downcast, all of the fire gone as he shuffled quietly out of the chamber.

Never before had Stricklander seen the young prince look so despondent. Usually, Bular radiated power and hubris, but now . . . he carried the weight of utter disappointment like a heavy chain around his neck.

Gunmar’s shoulders heaved as he came down from the heat of his temper. He sighed into his hand, dragging claws down his face. “Tell me the truth, Stricklander,” he muttered. “What does this mean for my plans?”

“You have time, Underlord. The boy does not know how to control his power, but I fear that won’t be the case forever. Eventually, it will properly manifest.”

“I’d hoped to _never_ see Merlin’s cursed magic again.” His weary eye fell on the changeling once more. “How did you come to know of my son’s mistake?”

“An unfortunate encounter with a very feisty whelp.”

Gunmar hummed—a deep, rattling sound in his chest. “You should have killed him.”

He didn’t respond to that. The Underlord slumped in his throne, eye closed. Brooding. Frustrated. His claws carved valleys into his throne as his fingers flexed.

A furious king with shaken faith. A shamed prince without the approval of his father.

Stricklander smiled to himself as he exited the throne room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a pretty bomb christmas thank you for asking
> 
> and thus concludes another milestone of ten chapters. now that claire knows and is aware of magic we can move onto the wizard shit
> 
> which means for all you vocal commenters thirsting for more douxie, yes, he will start stepping into a prominent role throughout this next batch of chapters. i can't wait either :D


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